My first trip to Texas was an academic conference in San Antonio, November 2006. Aside from the mild temperatures in late fall (and the historical sites), the thing I remember the most is the birds. Seeing so many birds changed my perspective in a basic way: finally I saw firsthand where all these animals went while the snow flew up north. Living through late summer and early fall in College Station has given us the opportunity to once again take in the transition from some birds to all birds.

Living within walking distance (who doesn’t?) from a shopping center, we’ve noticed that the migrating birds really like the local supermarket. Not only are they abundant and noisy, but we’re learning more about local efforts to deter this mass accumulation of feathered friends. For about a week in mid-October the shopping center in our neighborhood let off this automated BOOM! noise that sounds like a generic thunder clap. I think it was a loud expansion of air, but the point was apparently to move the birds out of the trees (see below) and onto some of other place. I can understand why businesses would take this measure. If your car wasn’t painted white before parking in a space under a tree, give it an hour. Nature takes the fast course this time of year.

A lot of what comes next needs to be transmitted visually, so I’ll just let the pictures and videos lay out. One thing more thing: walking brings new hazards. When a flock of these things takes off, it’s better to have a poncho or umbrella as the crap hitting the concrete sounds like a light rain. Never boring down here.

Bryan’s quality is that it more closely resembles a city in the older sense of a visible downtown, complete with walking areas, locally owned shops, and regular community events. Just recently we enjoyed the monthly wonder of First Fridays, where in shops stay open late, art galleries put on some displays, and local musicians play some tunes outside. We didn’t spend any money, but just walked around for a good while, appreciating the lack of congested car-lanes or cross-walks at every junction. Oh, yeah, and part of this city-wide event is the showing of a movie, which gives anyone who can stand the still heat a much-appreciated venue for film. It’s quality entertainment while walking the streets: simple pleasures. Imagine my delight (seriously) when I heard local musicians break out into a bluegrass version of “Somewhere Over the Rainbow”! Hell yes.

Plus, our collective vision was happy to see this, which comes with no description:

College Station might not offer the perfect place for a single slice of cheese pizza or the natural cool relief of a Great Lake any time soon, but for a time being now and a place being Texas, we can trust the refuge of Bryan for our escape needs.

Now, city officials, let’s talk about the practical values of public transit between two places that call themselves the “Twin Cities”…

Image source: angie’s groom ‘n board

I haven’t found any wood-ticks in Texas, but I’ll be damned if I haven’t located the finest substitute: cockroaches. After finding one in our apartment, I’m not sure if I should be peeved at the pest or happy for the fact that it took this long to find one. The discover went about as expected. I stood stunned and just watched it on the carpet, gauging if it responded to my movement. Being more an academic than anything else, I hastened the little bugger’s end swiftly with an empty three-ring binder and a bookend (don’t ask).

The same day we noticed that a collection (herd? According to wikipedia and other unsourced sites: intrusion, how apt) of roaches were collecting near a streetlight across from our place. Note especially movement in the grass behind the cover.

They are resourceful little bastards.

I’m the first to recognize that all this belly-aching is just acclimation pain of some sort. In time my sense of surrounding is bound to improve. For the day of the first cockroach, though, I had to refer to an old standby from early youth in the form of a Pearl Jam song. I think Vedder is singing about the woes of Ticketmaster in the mid-1990s rather than pests, but the message resonates nonetheless.

We came back and found our way into the apartment was blocked by an uninvited, unholy visitor.

Praying mantis waiting - but waiting for what?

I’d heard no end of spook stories before we moved to Texas – watch out for black widows and other big spiders, watch out for the pesty salamanders, don’t keep an ornamental pool unless you want to die some early morning from a water moccasin bite, boogedy-boogedy-boogedy. Snakes and salamanders don’t bother me. Spiders do, but we’ve only seen the occasional jumping spider (though not quite as sizeable as the one pictured).

But THIS is not of this earth:

Luckily I had a copy of this big local magazine. We fanned futilely at it for a few minutes and then tried to flash it into submission with the camera. Needless to say, the thing was unperturbed. Finally the Mister scooped it off, set it down on the front porch, and we escaped inside. But the ordeal was not over.

Interlude time: according to A&M’s entomology site, the praying mantis or mantid occurs naturally in the region. Although it may appear intimidating because of its gigantic size and freaky-ass alien face, the mantis generally doesn’t give a damn about humans or the concept of personal space, which is why you may come upon it venturing blithely up your front door. Some of the Chinese fellows (Tenodera aridifolia sinensis) are imported as pets or pest-control. Mantids are also related to cockroaches. Somehow. This is interesting news, too, as we recently laid down some boric acid and had our place sprayed for roaches. Are mantids immune? Did the certified Roach Killer drop this one off as insurance? We’ll never know. Herein ends the interlude.

Armed with this new information, we learned that our new baby resembled a male Carolina mantid. Peripherally, we also learned that we had no food apart from half a gently collapsing pan of cherry cobbler. What’s a pair of imposter adults to do?

The Mister sloooowly creaked open the door – I was, uh, busy getting the grocery bags so I didn’t see it – and scanned the front porch. There was nothing there, not even a salamander. The mantis had disappeared into the night. Together we stepped out. I turned back to lock the door, and -

Sneaking.

Today I’m a little nervous about opening the front door. Since it’s an A&M game day, perhaps we’re better off.

_{*No sarcasm here, honestly. More on these in the next Saw it in Texas post; they deserve their own, too.}

_{Source 1 and Source 2}

_{(When Sam Raimi strikes out, he really strikes out. It’s like he swings and misses and then hits some ingenuous little autograph-seeker with the bat. Mantids everywhere seek revenge, beginning with any Raimi fans they can find.)}

The George Bush Presidential Library and Museum in College Station

We’ve made it a point that whomever visits will get a drive by of the building at the very least. In addition to the school of government that bears his name, the library is also home to a piece of very intriguing commemorative art on the fall of the Berlin Wall.

Visitors to the Bush Airport in Houston will see a statue of the former president, set to bronze in 1991 and titled “Winds of Change.” Comments?

Messina Hof in Bryan, Texas

The local winery has two many remarkable characteristics, though the most visually interesting comes in the form of wildlife. Behind their operation one will find a small pond housing several turtles. It’s a little strange at first, but when you walk out on the patio the water starts moving, rounds heads breach the surface, and a company of shells arrives as if expecting some sort of reward. The image is our treat.

Few places can stake the claim to a presidential library; Texas has two.

The Lyndon Johnson Presidential Library and Museum in Austin

I have mixed feelings about Johnson, though touring his presidential library in Austin was a good experience. I was particularly struck by this view. It’s a glass wall showing different floors of red archive boxes. Now all I need is an excuse to do some Johnson research…

The State Capitol in Austin

Rest those assertions that the Texas Capitol dome is taller than the U.S. Capitol (it is, by over 14 feet, but whose counting?). The real quality of this historic site is the blend of architecture with ground space.

The Capitol rests south of the University of Texas at Austin campus, positioned relative to countless monuments, a bounty of shaded walking trails, and mounds of grass ideal for a picnic. Our day trip gave us something of true value: a shaded patch, a steady breeze, and an eyeful of wow. I’m not sure how, but we managed to comfortably stay outside for a sizable amount of time without rushing to beat the mid-day heat. Austin magic? Not so loud–we still live in College Station.

After original construction in 1853 and fire in 1881, the building was completed in 1888. The Goddess of Liberty stands atop the dome holding a single (lone, if you will) star in her hand.


Is it just me, or are those door hinges really big?

In addition to commemorative statues dedicated to Texas history, I was also struck by a prominent piece of memory to the Confederacy in front of the state capitol.

The text reads: DIED for state rights guaranteed under the Constitution. The people of the South, animated by the spirit of 1776, to preserve their rights withdrew from the federal compact in 1861. The North resorted to coercion. The South, against overwhelming numbers and resources, fought until exhausted. During the war, there were twenty two hundred and forty seven engagements; in eighteen hundred and eight two of these, at least one regiment took part. Number of men enlisted: Confederate Armies, 600,000; Federal armies, 2,859,132. Losses from all causes; Confederate, 437,000; Federal 483,216.

This statue grabbed my attention for obvious reasons. If we assume that commemorative displays like this come with purposeful choices to their design (we should), then this statue speaks volumes, even beyond the appropriation of the American Revolution. At each angle, visitors see different data on the confederacy and the individual states that seceded from the union. To add a sense of nature to this sight, onlookers who face Jefferson Davis will see the sun rise from behind his shoulders. What do citizens think of this monument? How do we balance attitudes and commemorations of the past with values of the present? This is, to be sure, not a set of questions relative to visual space in Texas or the South in particular, but in commemorative practice in general.

Outside city hall in downtown Syracuse, New York visitors find Christopher Columbus, and yes, he is standing above figures representing American Indians. The monument was dedicated in the 1932 and bears the inscription of “Citizens of Italian Origin of Onondaga County.”

David Blight’s study of the Civil War in American memory may be of interest to those wanting to know more about how our assumptions of the past take root in public commemorations.

We have miles to go before we can say we’ve seen the goods in Texas. With any luck we’ll take in some of the many state parks, museums, and countless activities that keep public life humming. Our minds are open. After all, a superficial search of visual artifacts might lead to unfounded assumptions on the character of any particular place.

Differences in culture, wildlife, or scenery were small potatoes in my mind compared to what might happen to my wide wale wardrobe in the American south. In short, I’ve lived in more drafty and cold apartments than I can remember, I’ve always thought it was stupid to pay for temperature control (always heat) separate from rent, and I’ve always believed it is easier to warm up in the cold than to cool down in the heat. Since moving to College Station in early July, nearly every day has followed the same weather pattern: high near 100 degrees, low around 77. So far, we’ve learned a lot and still have a ways to go.

There are both good reasons for my overreaction on the heat as well as certain signs my bitching will soon let up. Living in states that border Canada sets a certain cycle in a person’s experience. Surviving a brutally cold Minnesota winter lets one appreciate the fresh renewal of spring, full mood uplift and all. Winter always had the potential to be a very long season. For instance, our last two years of living in Syracuse consisted of putting up plastic in an attempt to block cold air rushing through the worn-down windows. From late November through mid-March our pad didn’t get above 58 degrees, unless of course we had guests, in which case they were likely chilled by the 62-degree conditions while we perspired through a thermal.

43 days of living in College Station awakens me to the transition that has occurred. Apartment fans run constantly, the dreaded (and hottest) hour of 5:00PM is almost always spent inside, and air-conditioning, once frowned-upon as freon foolery now equates to the best access to any respite, the new inside comfort zone of 78 degrees.

A squirrel assumes the “it’s-blimmin’-hot-and-I’m-collapsing” pose outside our apartment.

Maybe it’s the wealth of sunlight in my new set of routines, but a serious part of me can see the parallels apparent to life north and south in the United States. Snubbing a nose at the environment of big trucks, palm trees, and A/C makes no sense given the cost of heating bills, road salt, and car rust we experienced in both Minnesota and New York (except the part about the big trucks–see future post on driving in College Station). What’s more, I’ve come to realize that people get along in a Texas summer with the same mentality that let’s a northerner survive a winter solstice: going outside at certain points in the year carries a natural risk to your health. Get up, move about, transition from temperature-controlled home to temperature-controlled car or bus, to temperature-controlled work; rest your feet by the fire or rest your wrists under a cold faucet, and so on. Whereas I once wouldn’t fathom walking to school in anything but a pair of Sorels, it’s now become common sense to think of a water bottle as an extension of my arm.

Recognizing the other half’s point of view has expanded my sense of national climate and lifestyle enormously. It all hit home when, within the same week, I heard the mirror of two very familiar axioms on weather and yearly routine. First someone assured me that the long Texas summer helps residents appreciate the pleasant fall. The second person stated in a matter-of-fact way that living in the south made perfect sense because it is obviously much easier to cool down when hot than to warm up when cold. Horses for courses.

Does recognition or newfound appreciation on surviving in hot or cold climates equate to a full-on embrace? Let me ponder that question by turning up the fan and remembering a springtime trip through Vermont…

The move from Syracuse to College Station prepared us to read and listen closely to different messages around us. A prime reason for this occurred on the second day of the trip about mid-way through Ohio. We were making fun of the moving truck radio and its constant barrage of Elton John classics from the ’70s when my eyes came across the not-so-subtle message posted broadside style along the side of the road. It read something like this:

HELL
IS
REAL

Did they know what our truck radio was playing? Without a clear sense of humor I blurted out, “Jesus Christ” upon seeing this 20-foot-tall message of uplift. It wasn’t until a couple of weeks after we’d settled in College Station when I read another broadside printed on an 18-wheeler reading: “Jesus Christ is the Lord, not a curse.” Lesson learned.

In addition to the sharp rise in bible verses that accompany our driving scenery (oddly enough they are usually within a mile of an adult bookstore advertisement, creating a consistent duel of the eye), there is also a steady stream of messages flirting with secession from the union. Some are more visually stunning than others. Usually, though, it’s a pretty boring stream of images aligning the state flag with “secede,” like the one we saw in Bryan yesterday. No word yet on any claims, supporting evidence, or rebuttal from the other side. From my outsider perspective, this ongoing exchange of views will come down to two components: federal funds coming into the state and the unwavering resolve of secession supporters.

One last “heard it here” moment is worth mentioning. Ever since moving to the College Station area we’ve been extremely taken with the selection of good food (a future post for sure). Prior to walking over to our favorite Mexican restaurant in Bryan, we noticed an establishment across the street that pushed our understanding of “Beware of Dog” to a new level:

The cardboard square reads: “Pit Bull with AIDS!”

As if the threat of a dog bite wasn’t enough by itself, right? We haven’t determined if the image of the man with the animal below it is a representation of the said infected dog, but have taken notice nonetheless. All things (local crime deterrent included) remain bigger in Texas.

Here goes:
Texas enjoys the distinction (despite persistent calls for supreme status) of being a national number two. It ranks second place in population (over 20 million residents) between California (over 35 million) and New York (over 18 million). This ensures competitive presidential contests through the electoral college, huh? It also ranks snugly between Alaska (over 570,000 square miles) and California (over 164,000 square miles) with an impressive showing for wide open spaces: over 264,000 square miles. For state pride though, once the competition is leveled to the continental United States, it’s all a show down with the Golden State. Does this ongoing second-place finish explain the high levels of state pride? My suspicion is that it derives more from turning a complex history into a simplistic reminder that the blue bonnet state is spatially larger than France.

My modest bookshelf houses The Reader’s Companion to American History, edited by Eric Foner and John Garraty. In it I find a review from high school civics class: Mexico gains independence from Spain in the 1824 and drafts a national constitution. They invite people to settle land which is a mutual frontier to American immigrants and Mexican residents (Tejanos). Attempts by the Mexican government to restrict American immigration met conflict, as did efforts to curtail slave-holding settlers from the east. “Immigrants from Jacksonian America had certain expectations of republican government, expectations that involved government neither claiming so much nor involved so little” (T.R.C.T.A.M.,1065). So the story goes that an outbreak of rebellion from military rule ushers a new form of government in the form of a republic. On an interesting note, the initial government of Texas yearned for immediate inclusion to the union, though was rebuffed by the Jackson and Van Buren administrations for its status as a slave-holding territory, not to mention the complexity of its back story. Enter James Polk to the presidency and the admission of Texas to the Union in 1845 resulting in statehood and, oh yeah, war with Mexico, who (can you believe it?) did not fail to notice that its land was in new hands. Quite a rapid bit of movement for twenty years. In short, the sense of place in Texas civic affairs has a long history.

This brief review should signal a couple of things: when contemporary politicians (every smart-ass governor or state politician) mention secession as a return to form for a state ticked off about guns and taxes, they have made about six or seven short-cuts in their claim. Also, nativist claims that usher tangible symbols into being are equally ill-founded on the whole. Is it possible I am confused by my short tenure in Texas? I’ll edit my reflections in the future as is necessary.

Like any general reflection details here are inevitably left out. The goal of the above note is not to over-generalize, but to establish a sense of where we are to better understand what we’ll undoubtedly see in the future. Texas is obviously a complex place with no two cities that are completely alike. College Station, I seek to know thee.