We were at the end of the last road south at the end of the world, up against the Mexico border. A place beyond the reach of Verison cellphone service.. Beyond the reach of everything except for a couple of white Border Patrol pickups. When they pull up we just flash our binoculars. They are invariably friendly, seemingly thankful for a break in their boring routine - stopping people just to talk to someone. We were finding our way to the backside of Moon Lake, an isolated resaca - literally a backwater, an isolated piece of the old wandering Rio Grande.
We were there to see what there was - a couple of Fulvous Whistling Ducks among a couple of hundred Black-bellied Whistling Ducks? Other rare Mexican wanderers? Maybe, but if so, we didn't see them. But we did see a lot of ducks.
And across the resaca, a house - elegant and slightly weather-worn. It is relatively new? Or is it an old house built on the Rio Grande and cut off when the river wandered south? I know what I suspect, but I am sticking with my story of an isolated lady abandoned by her fickle lover.
2 comments:
I’d stick to your story, indeed rivers are fickle.
They make interesting borders. I’ve read the Mississippi has put part of Wisconsin on its Minnesota side...and so I wonder about the St. Croix...
...the Red, the Ohio, the Missouri...the river borders of Europe...the...
And so it makes one wonder if this isolated lady is Mexican or American...
Your feral riparian,
Brad Gulstad
American I suspect - she sits on the north shore of the resaca.
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