Posts Tagged With: Crystal Beach

Stormy Saturday

Posted on September 8, 2013 by Cheryl L. Ware

 

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As I drove away from Lake Charles, I talked first to my sister and then to my friend Martha — hands free, thanks to the Bluetooth connection in my car. Before I knew it, I was on Highway 173, over the Rainbow Bridge, and on my way to Winnie.

With the Gulf of Mexico right off to my left, I was on my way yet again to Crystal Beach. That’s when I noticed the storm clouds over the Gulf. Just lovely.

Actually, they were quite lovely. I mean that. There’s a beauty in the play of dark and light, of shadows. In this case, in shades of gray (not 50, not that best-selling mommy porn book). There was the blue-gray of the sky, with lighter streaks. There was a dark gray column cutting through the sky itself, anchoring the darker gray rolling clouds above to the Gulf. Within the dark gray, there were ripples and curls. Lighter areas dotted the dark gray. Truly, it was beautiful.

It was also more than threatening rain. Though a full thundershower never developed, I did get a few sprinkles of rain. Once I’d turned at Winnie toward High Island, though, the rain came. Again, not in a lasting thunderstorm, but in a strong short shower. I drove up to and over the Intracoastal Canal bridge in the rain, and then was at High Island, and the rain cleared.

By the time I turned onto Highway 87 for the last stretch of driving, the sky was actually clear over the Gulf. My last fifteen minutes to the house were clear of rain. I parked, unloaded the dogs and my overnight bag, walked upstairs, unlocked the door, and sighed. Once I’d put water and food down for the dogs and turned on the AC, I left. Headed to Galveston. Time for Target.

I had no wait for the ferry at all. But that also meant waiting for the cars behind me to fill up the ferry. When the ferry starts to head out, it’s only a 15-minute ride to the island. Not long at all. But even with the windows in the car rolled down, it was steamy and hot, and soon I had the sweat-sheen that everyone else had. Oh well. It’s still summertime here, despite what the calendar might say.

Driving off the ferry, I bypassed the turn to the Strand, instead heading to Broadway, which leads to I-45. The shopping center I wanted is right there, just to the right. Today I was heading to Target. Surely, I thought, I’d find a number of things on my list for the house.

Nope. Not today. Maybe the shopping gods weren’t paying attention. So with my few purchases, it was time to head home. This time, I was in line for the ferry. It wasn’t as bad a wait as it can be, though, and soon I was directed to drive on. I ended up being one of the first cars, with a clear view of the ferry gate and the Gulf.

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Once more, I rolled the windows down. This time, I simply sat and observed the sky once more. Darker blue-gray clouds edged with lighter gray areas swirled around a clear opening in the middle. Light streamed through it, trailing off to the right. More storm clouds, I thought.

Within a minute, the clear area in front of me filled with people getting out of their cars to stand at the front of the ferry for the ride to Bolivar Peninsula. I stayed inside my car, reading.

 

 

By the time we approached the peninsula, skies were clear and blue, and the lighthouse clearly marked the peninsula itself.

 

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Once off the ferry, I drove to the Gulf Coast Market, needing a few more items. Then it was home, up the stairs, and into the house. The dogs greeted me as though I’d been away for weeks.

Now I’ve read a bit, eaten, and am ready for bed. The storms never really arrived. In a way, I’m sad about that. I love being safe and snug in a bed, under a quilt with a good book, when it’s raining. The sound of the rain soothes me and lulls me to sleep.

Not tonight, though. I’ll just have to wait for another storm to actually develop another time.

Maybe I’ll dream about rain.

Note on Sunday morning: Technical difficulties last night meant that I couldn’t upload this until now. No good cellular connections means no uploading.

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It’s All Relative and Friendly

Posted on September 1, 2013 by Cheryl L. Ware

It’s Labor Day weekend, and I’m at Crystal Beach, enjoying the beach house that my sister and I rebuilt last year. One of the pleasures — even joys — of having this new place is more room — and private room — to host family and friends.

Not that I couldn’t do that in the previous one, but it was only about 650 square feet in one room with a kitchen in it and a bathroom. You know the term “open concept”? That was the layout. It had a double bed, two twin beds, and a futon. If you wanted privacy, forget it. You just had to retreat into a book and your own head.

Here, though, in 825 square feet, Kay and I have 3 bedrooms, one bath, and a kitchen/living room. With a double bed in each bedroom (and a sleeper chair in addition, in one), and a double-size sleeper sofa, we can accommodate 9, depending on sleeping arrangements.

Sometimes we are here together, as this Labor Day weekend. Sometimes, Kay comes down. Other times, I’m here. We’ve both had friends stay with us.

And this time, we have had not only a friend but relatives.

I came over on Thursday, and our cousin Barbara and her husband Herb followed me; they’d been in Lake Charles overnight. Kay arrived a couple of hours after we did. Barbara and Herb and I had lunch, then rode down the beach for miles, looking at the beach houses and observing the many flocks of brown pelicans up and down the beach. Some groups of them were on the beach with terns and cow-birds. Others swirled overhead, dive-bombing into the Gulf to snatch fish out of the schools near the surface.

We rode, we stopped, we looked. We laughed a lot. There was a running commentary about the houses, the colors, the designs.

Kay had brought homemade tamales from Zwolle, Louisiana (home of the Zwolle Tamale Festival). We feasted.

Friday morning, coffee and doughnuts from Dannay’s. More laughter, more fun. Barbara and Herb packed up and left for Houston, where they were going to see their son play with the band he’s in.

By mid-afternoon, our friend Charles drove up. I’ve known Charles for 56 years — we moved into the Egan SunOil camp on his birthday in 1957. We started first grade together; we graduated high school together. Our parents moved houses onto lots across the street from each other when the camp was broken up. Now that all our parents are dead, we still have those houses.

Lots of time for tamales and cheese dip, naps, and various adult beverages.

Saturday was very slow and lazy. We did some shopping. We visited. We sat on the deck. But mainly we just hung out together. Didn’t want to waste our energy — we knew we’d be going to Galveston. That’s because last night we had tickets for a concert in Galveston. Going over about 5:30 was perfect — no lines. The concert was at 8; Robert Earl Keen played a solid two hours. By 11 we were back at Crystal Beach — again, no lines at all at the ferry. The timing was perfect — we drove right onto the ferry with no wait.

Over the last couple of days, lots of people have crowded the beaches here, seeking the last free weekend before schools really absorb them. I’ve avoided the beach — too crowded. Many of our neighbors have also come in, pulling out their golf carts and firing up grills. Music wafts in from many streets away at times. It’s lively, to say the least.

But us? We’re pretty low-key. We talk and laugh and eat and nap.

Today, we woke up whenever we wanted, drank coffee an diet Coke, munched on breakfast stuff. There was no agenda, other than a visit from another cousin.

For lunch, my cousin Carolyn and her husband Larry drove over from League City. Again more laughter and lots of chatter. We told stories about our family, about our mothers, our grandmother. Carolyn and Larry decided not to fight the long multiple lanes of waiting lines at the ferry and left to drive back via I-10 instead.

You can roast in those lines. And spent far more times than you want. I know; I’ve done it before, and will do it again, when necessary. Obviously, there were lots of people heading over here to the beach today. Another reason I’ve stayed home today, other than going out to lunch.

By afternoon, I was sleepy. I took my iPad and lay down under a quilt, read for a while, and dozed. Periodically, I’d get up, wander to the bathroom or kitchen. By six, it was time to rise and join the world.

In between, we watched television. This afternoon, for instance, we’ve watched several Alfred Hitchcock films. At least Kay and Charles have; I’ve napped. Dinner is over.

And Psycho is now on. Can’t stand the shower scene. But I watch nonetheless.

Tomorrow we’ll pack up, clean the house, and leave for now. Others will be doing the same. I know I’ll be back next weekend.

This house was built for such times. Not only for Kay and me. It’s a place where we relax completely. And we entertain.

Our house doesn’t compare to some others — even on our street. It’s modest. Others are much larger, more ornate, more expensive. But it suits us. Not too much to maintain.
One of the reasons I bought the original place in 1997 was that I could sit on the street in my car and hear the surf. I could see the beach. Once I saw the place from inside and the deck, I could seek the potential. True, there was no insulation. The plywood walls were dark. But it was close enough to the beach. And I could paint.

And so the place came to be mine. The furniture came with it. I painted. I bought some new dishes and brought things to make it mine. I bought sheets and bedspreads. With a television, a DVR, and a CD player/radio, it offered entertainment too.

I spent New Years 1999/2000 here with friends, watching fireworks and drinking champagne. Dad spent time here with me, with Kay. I have wonderful memories of our family here.

When Hurricane Ike hit here and left me with what I called “the lovely slab,” I didn’t really want to rebuild. Not then. But I didn’t sell the lot, either. I couldn’t afford to, and I didn’t really want to. I loved coming here; I always had. So I kept the lot, eventually bought a used camper trailer, moved it here, and enjoyed more beach time with Dad and Kay.

Many times Kay and I talked about rebuilding, and though we didn’t we knew that one day that would happen. Dad knew too.

So last year, we did. And we spent our first Christmas without Dad here, beginning a new family tradition.

This place is new, but it’s filled with old memories — from summers with my grandmother who used to rent down here, from the times spent here until Ike wiped it out. The furniture is a mixture of old, new, and repurposed from flea markets and estate sales and antique stores. When Kay asks about moving something here that one of us already owns, I ask here whether she can stand to watch it wash away or disappear (after all, another hurricane is always a possibility). Usually, she decides not to move it here if it’s really something sentimental.

Now, though– we continue to put our touches on this place. Today, for example, we got a wrench — didn’t have one, but we didn’t need one either. We’ve got a drill, but I know we need a set of tools here. That’s on the list of “things to get,” which grows.

But we fill the place with new memories too. Every time we visit, together or alone. With friends. With relatives.

Whether the houses around us are large or small, ornate or plain, this area has rebuilt. It’s living again. It’s got its groove back.

Tomorrow I’ll head back to Lake Charles.

It’s only a two-hour drive, and the road runs both ways. There’s always more time, more time for visits with family and friends.

Barbara and I are already planning on a visit when she and Herb will come down to meet me here — with their daughter, her husband, and their two babies. We’ll hope to get her brother Jim here too since he lives on the island.

Time to savor those family ties, those friendships.

Soon.

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Beach House Bingo

Posted on August 4, 2013 by Cheryl L. Ware

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I grew up coming to Crystal Beach, spending time every summer when my maternal grandmother rented a beach house for a week or two. I grew up enjoying the warm Gulf of Mexico (sometimes more than warm, admittedly). I learned to deal with tar balls, with red tides, with dead jellyfish. When I was a teenager, I remember baby oil and beach towels and tanning far more than is considered healthy today. And the movies of the 60s also made beach life look enticing — of course, those beaches were in California an had Annette Funicello and others. Our beaches weren’t so pretty. And had entire families, not just perfect-looking teenagers. I even remember one summer when there was a big tiki hut with live music and dancing — right on the beach.

So when I found a small beach house in 1997, for a reasonable price, I snapped it up. It was an old fishing camp from the 1960s, probably. Lots of stained plywood. No insulation. It was about 650 square feet in size, an “open-concept” home with one bathroom. During strong winds, you could feel the whole structure give in the wind, as the design was meant to.

Hurricane Ike completely destroyed it. All I had left was a cracked slab and some twisted poles. For a few years, I had a small camper trailer set up on the slab. But that was limited in its appeal (for me, anyway). Kay and I talked about re-building, but didn’t follow through until after Dad died.

We had very similar ideas and had no trouble deciding on the design. Our builder, AM Coastal, was great to work with. We selected colors, granite, flooring. We paid builder’s insurance.

First the slab had to be removed, and then we had to have dirt work so that the lot was a bit higher, even with the neighbors’ lots so that rain didn’t pool on the lot, creating a lake. Finally, the pilings were put in, and building began.

By last fall, it was done. We’d paid for it, together. It was ours. Utilities are in my name since I already had accounts for this property.

Kay and I took possession of the beach house not quite a year ago. We moved furniture in, using what we already had or had bought. I’d bought dishes and pots and pans, getting kitchen stuff. I’d bought a small armoire for my bedroom. In a local antique store in Lake Charles, I found a white iron bed that I fell in love with, and bought it. We found wingback chairs in that same store. And another visit there meant we found a small Duncan Phyfe table that was perfect for our new place. By the time we took possession, we had been buying and putting things aside, so we had enough to set up house.

I’ve spent time here, but not recently, and the last couple of days have reminded me just how new it still is. And how new an experience it is for my sister and me to share ownership and responsibilities.

We don’t have a large yard, not at all. And while we don’t have a lot of grass, it needs mowing. Unfortunately, we had not bought a mower yet, and it was time. Kay brought a weed-eater, and she used that the last time she was here. Yesterday, I bought a rotary mower, reasoning that such a small yard shouldn’t take much effort. Ha.

Today was a scorcher and I spent too much time even in the shade putting the mower together. When I’d finally finished, I tried to use it and discovered that I had the handles on backwards, which meant that the mower was only working when I pulled it toward me. Clearly, that was not ideal. I sat down, unscrewed the handle and flipped it into the right position, screwed the handle on again, and then it was right. I spent a few minutes trying it out, liked it, and then tried to mow the back strip of yard behind the house.

That’s when I realized that the grass was not only high and thick, but that there was more than just grass. There were different kinds of trash grass, and those were difficult to manage. Five minutes of frustration later, I gave up. The heat was too much. I rolled the mower onto the concrete under the house. I rinsed off in the sand shower and walked upstairs. I hadn’t realized just how hot the day was until I panted, chugged down a glass of water, and rinsed off again in the shower. I lay down on the bed and was out for a short nap.

Later in the afternoon, after it had cooled down some, I tried again, and quit more – the mower blades kept getting stuck in the grass. Conceding that I was defeated, I unlocked the storage room, rolled the mower in, and locked the storage room again.

It’s been a couple of days of discoveries. Yesterday, I had to text Kay to ask about the water heater — it didn’t seem to be on, and the water was lukewarm at best. Only then did I learn that there was a switch to turn the water heater on, that it was in the laundry area right by the breaker box, and that it was in fact not flipped on. Easy fix. Hot water with no trouble now.

Since I was here last, back in March or so, Kay has brought over the sleeper loveseat she found at an estate sale, gotten it into the living room, and covered it with the cover that I bought. At last, a real loveseat. With the two green wingback chairs and a forest-green leather footrest, the new seating really makes the room look right. Bit by bit, we’re making our beach haven ours. This week I’m going to look for a small table cover for the small round table in the corner, and I think I’ll look for a small bookcase for my bedroom. I need some shelves for storage.

Kay and I divide the expenses pretty evenly — the water bill comes to me, the electricity bill to her. She had satellite TV service installed. I’ll take care of internet — if I can ever find a service that we can afford. Apparently, AT&T internet service isn’t available on our street. I think it is there only a few streets away, maybe even on the next street over, because I can see AT&T wireless when my browser searches. Alas, coverage is not full. Our satellite television provide doesn’t provide internet. It sort of sub-contracts to another satellite internet provider, but the cost is high and the reviews are really bad. So for now, I’m using the iPad and the cellular option. Even that doesn’t always work. My cell phone coverage is spotty too. Problems, problems — minor ones, admittedly. I can manage.

But it’s funny, in a way. It says something about how Kay and I have slightly different priorities — for her, cable TV was really crucial. Not so for me. I’m happy with DVDs, though I admit I enjoy having cable TV now. Indeed, it is on while I’m working on t=my blog! For me, though, internet service is higher on my “must-have” list. While I can make do with what I have using the iPad and cellular service, I’d much prefer full service. I use the internet a lot — to read, to research. And to work on my blog, of course.

Not having it always available has made me recognize just how spoiled I am. It’s good in a way, since I’m learning how to manage with less. Not having it always available will force me to do other things — work on crafts, write, and maybe sew. That’s not a bad consequence, actually.

Kay’s been here during the summer — and I will now spend more time here since I’m back from Greece. I’m freer to spend time anytime I want to, not just on weekends. THe perks of retirement again. For years, the beach house that Ike destroyed was my runaway refuge, a place I could reach in two hours, an escape for a few days. Now I’m freer to be here.

Fall and winter are maybe my favorite times here at the beach. Summer crowds are gone. It’s comfortable and not crowded. I can hear the surf most days, just sitting on the deck. In a couple of minutes, I can walk down to the beach and look for seashells or sea glass.

If it rains, I just stay in and enjoy the soothing sounds of the rain. I snuggle under quilts with books.

So today when the rotary mower wasn’t working the way I wanted, I put it up. I’ll be here all week. Tomorrow, I’ll try Kay’s method — the weed-trimmer. If I can reduce the grass height some, then I can use the mower. I don’t have a time-frame for completion. If I can get a little done at a time, that’s fine. I just want to deal with it by the time I return to Lake Charles.

By tonight, most of my neighbors had packed their cars and left to return to their full-time homes, probably returning to work. I had the satisfaction of walking back upstairs and turning on the television, grabbing a diet Coke, and sitting with the dogs by my feet.

It’s a new beach house, one with three small but quite nice bedrooms, one bathroom, and a living room-kitchen. It’s about 825 square feet in size. There’s insulation, of course (something the old place did not have). Central air and heat.

Bit by bit, it’s becoming a home. While I was gone, Kay bought a double bed for the third bedroom, so it now has that bed and a sleeper chair from Ikea. We could probably have 8 or 9 people, I think, if we needed to.

She’s had friends here. I’ve had friends here. We spent Christmas here, our first since Dad died – and we started a new family tradition, I hope, of spending our Christmases here.

It’s close enough to run into Galveston for shopping or visiting. We’ve got a cousin who lives on the island. And we’ve got another cousin who lives south of Houston, just off I-45, about 20 minutes beyond Galveston and back on the mainland. That’s wonderful, to have family so close.

This week will be a welcome one, one I am enjoying so far. I had an old friend drive over Friday, and she left today. While we were in Galveston yesterday, I got to visit with a friend from grad school at Texas A&M in College Station — she was visiting her son, and we are connected on Facebook. What a treat to see her and catch up face to face!

Tonight, though, I’m sitting here with my Gypsy and ZsaZsa, the Shih Tzus, in peace and quiet. I’m feeling very grateful tonight, and very thankful.

Maybe I’ll get some decorating done this week. In between attempts to mow the grass and trips to the island. And I’ll write. Work on some jewelry. Nap, of course. And read.

Beach time. Good times.

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Texas Road Trip — Crystal Beach, Boliver Peninsula

Posted on August 2, 2013 by Cheryl L. Ware

As I write this, I am sitting at the table in the beach house at Crystal Beach, near Galveston (just 15 miles to the ferry and then you’re on the island). A glass of chilled wine . . . and total relaxation.

It’s the first time I’ve been here since March, and it’s clearly full-on summer. The ceiling fans and the air-conditioning let me forget that even now, just after 8 pm, it’s in the 90s.

Once I had packed the car, and the dogs were settled, and I had a diet Coke and some water for the road, I plugged in my iPod and headed out on Interstate 10. By the time I’d crossed the border into Texas (halfway over the bridge over the Sabine River), I was in the road mode. Starting with the Dixie Chicks, I sang along with Natalie Maines. Texas music for the Texas road trip. Perfect.

My favorite route is to leave the interstate just past Orange, turning off onto state highway 62 South to Bridge City. It’s a two-lane road, but just perfect for avoiding the heavier traffic along the interstate. This route is much more rural, through small towns. Nine miles or so south and I turned right onto Highway 73 West, crossed over Rainbow Bridge, and took the 4-lane that skirts the Gulf and takes you through some of the scenic refineries of Port Arthur.

All along the road, though, you know you’re in a slower paced life. Cars and trucks are parked off the road. People and their fishing poles dot the various small bodies of water that are on either side of the road.

Even here the speed limit is 75 miles an hour (thanks, Texas!). The Dixie Chicks are through and it’s time for The Civil Wars for a while. As I sing, I travel in memory to childhood and later, scenes of the past triggered by the very places I travel through.

At one point, I cross by the turn to Taylor’s Bayou, and I am transported in time immediately. I am 5 years old, and my mother’s mother and stepfather have a camp on Taylor’s Bayou. It’s a real fishing camp, not a decorative one. Spiders co-habit with us. The camp is at the end of the road, and right by the bayou. Somewhere in a box, I’ve got photographs from that summer of 1956. In my so-stylish rubber swim cap, floating in an inner tube near my grandmother’s friends, I grin right at the camera. The water is dark, brownish, and now I don’t even want to think about what might have been near me. Regardless, I paddle and float without a second thought. Nearby, my grandmother sits in a lawn chair, wearing a bra and her peddle-pushers. My brother Phil, not quite 2, sits in her lap. His hair is bleached cotton white and he’s clearly suntanned. He’s laughing and happy as she teases him. My sister Kay isn’t around yet — she won’t be born for another 7 months or so.

I’m not quite sure when Mom and Poppa (my grandmother Ella and her husband, Glenn) bought the camp; nor do I know when they sold it. But the name of the camp? It may tell you a lot about their political leanings — and about the era. They named the camp Adair’s Hyannis Port. Not quite Kennedy headquarters, but wonderful nonetheless.

Soon I’ve passed that turnoff and continue on the highway that parallels the interstate, but south of it, and while there is certainly traffic on the 4 lanes, it’s nowhere near as packed as the interstate route. Another advantage: I avoid the Beaumont knot of traffic and interstate. If there’s going to be a traffic jam or an accident, it’s going to be on the stretch heading into Beaumont and curving toward Houston. Bypassing it, I don’t really cut any time off the journey, but I do avoid hassles and possible traffic snarls. I also get to travel through a very different landscape.

Highway 73 takes me through Port Arthur and Port Neches, near Groves, just skirting the south parts of those towns. For miles, though, what I see is grass. And water. And people fishing or crabbing. And birds.

Soon, I’ve followed Highway 73, curving right toward Winnie. That’s where I get off the highway (which continues on to Houston, and joins Interstate 10. Once at Winnie, I take a left and head south, through Seabreeze and lots of pastures. Soon, I’m crossing a bridge over the Intracoastal Canal, and then I’m in High Island. The high point of High Island allows you to look up and see the Gulf of Mexico, straight ahead. Slowing down past a fruit and vegetable stand that always has treats, I curve right, and then it’s the home stretch.

If I roll the window down, I can hear the Gulf, smell the salt air, and hear the seagulls that whirl overhead. Not too far out, there’s an oil platform. Just a few years ago, this area was devastated by Hurricane Ike. Now it looks so much better. The dunes are re-established, and while the beach road is closer to the Gulf than it was before, the road no longer appears in danger of washing out. Not now, not yet, anyway. There are trucks and cars on the beach, with canopies sheltering people who are there to swim and fish. Saltwater poles are stuck in the sand and the lines arc out into the surf.

Soon the houses appear to the left and right of the road. Bolivar Peninsula is rather narrow here, certainly narrower than it used to be. Visible to the left — the Gulf of Mexico. To the right is the Intracoastal Canal and then the bay. Single houses are on either side at first, but then the land widens and small communities of beach homes cluster off to the left and the right. Beachside and bayside homes, in summer colors, pastel and bright, announce that Hurricane Ike might have done a lot of damage, but it didn’t destroy this area.

Traffic slows from 60 MPH to 45 and then 40 as I approach and then cross Rollover Pass, the area cutting between the Gulf and the bay. Great for fishing, this cut-through effectively renders the rest of Boliver Peninsula a virtual island. Lots of people already line Rollover Pass, their fishing poles busily pulling in fish. It looks like a good day.

Once past the Pass, traffic speeds up again, and I pass through small communities like Caplen. The Peninsula’s water plant is on my right, and by the time I see the sign for Lafitte’s Landing and then Copacabana Beach, I know it’s almost time to turn off on the road to my destination.

Just to the right is Stingaree Road (North), and a flashing light, and I move to the center, come to a stop, and have my left blinker on. As soon as traffic allows, I turn left onto our road and then I slow down, take a sharp right, and park under my house.

Two hours, door to door, with no stops. I’ve sung along with the Dixie Chicks, The Civil Wars, and any number of different artists on The Return of the Grievous Angel, a tribute album for the late Gram Parsons.

I’ll be here for a week, probably. Right now my friend Donna is here for the weekend. We ate at a local place, the Tiki Bar and Grill. As I turned into its parking lot, a small plane was landing in the pasture just beyond. This is the place to be on a Friday night, clearly.

I love to drive, and this short two-hour drive has taken me into a different state — Texas, to be sure, but also just a different state of being. It’s Jimmy Buffet territory. Beach time. Summer music.

For years, after my grandmother and her husband sold Adair’s Hyannis Port, she rented beach houses here in Crystal Beach. Sometimes, she’d just come down from Beaumont for the day to go fishing or crabbing off one of the piers right after the turnoff from High Island onto Highway 87.

I’m not sure when it happened, but Highway 87, the actual beach road, is now named for Jane Long, a woman famous in Texas history. Sometimes, oldtimers in the mid-20th century said that if the surf rolled out far enough in the Gulf, it was possible to see the remains of old Indian settlements. Galveston Island once was home to Jean Lafitte for a while.

Like the other communities on Boliver Peninsula, Crystal Beach is a family-oriented area. Weekends, the beach is flooded with day-trippers from Beaumont and the Golden Triangle area. During the week, though, it’s just us locals and homeowners, and those who rent for a week. This is very laid-back, not very high-powered, though there are larger and far more expensive beach houses now. The post-Hurricane Ike building is surprising.

On Boliver, dotted between some communities and houses, you still see cattle. This is a bird sanctuary area, too, or used to be before Hurricane Ike.

For my week here, I have two pairs of shorts, a few tops, a swimming suit, and two pairs of cotton pants. Flip-flops. One pair of beach sandals. THere’s one big grocery store, known as Gulf Coast Market and now as The Big Store. You can get anything from gourmet cheeses to plumbing items. It’s one of my favorite places just to wander in. We’re also happy to have a Dollar Store now. We’re easy to satisfy. There’s a lumber yard. There are a variety of businesses. Also a number of bars and places to eat.

If you need more choices, you have to go onto the island. Krogers, Target, Home Depot, Walmart –those are in Galveston. Also Pier One.

Galveston is tourist territory. Moody Gardens, Schlitterbahn. The seawall along the Gulf. Or the Strand near the bay. Tourists wander everywhere. There might be a cruise ship docked, and those passengers might be wandering around too.

For people interested in history, this is the place to study the great storm of 1900, the hurricane that killed an estimated 5000-8000 people. No-one really knows how many died. Read Isaac’s Storm before you come; and when you’re here, take time to look for the film on the hurricane, shown on the bayside near the Strand. It’s chilling.

Along the Gulf Coast we mark our summers and falls by hurricanes, named ones. It’s just a fact of life here.

The beach house I’m sitting in is new. My sister and I rebuilt last year, on the land where there was a fishing camp. I bought it in 1997, and after Hurricane Ike, all I had left was a broken slab and one Christmas ornament, an angel. Its wing was chipped, but it survived where nothing else did. It’s not Christmas, of course, but that ornament sits on a table in the living room. It has meaning for me.

We rebuilt. Others did too. This is an area of survivors. And we know to enjoy what we have, while we have it.

Tomorrow, I think we’ll head to the ferry, get in line and take one of the ferries across to Galveston.

For now, though, I think I’ll finish my glass of wine and maybe sit on the deck for a while. If the mosquitoes let me.

I’ve traveled only two hours, but into a very different zone. It’s time to kick back and enjoy.

As Jimmy Buffet notes, “Changes in Latitudes, Changes in Attitudes.” Absolutely.

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