It was an eerily quiet beach this July 4th; nothing in my memory banks to even remotely compare to 2020. The few faces to be seen, were covered by masks. Eyes were suddenly the only visible feature, making eye contact more important than ever before. Diamond Beach had some renters, but nothing like years past. The lazy river was empty most of the time, with a scattering of floaters passing through every now and then. The volleyball pit was empty, except for the random seagull. Even the beach shared with the condos down the way was deserted.

Panama Jack and I decided to cruise the seawall in search of some signs of life. We found “Keep Out” signs everywhere, and surprisingly no “outlaws” parking there. Even our favorite fishing jetty at the corner of the seawall and west beach had no fishermen. Since they had nowhere to park, they couldn’t reach their favorite spot. It was just me, Panama Jack, and the seagulls. In all my decades at the beach, there has never been a fourth like this one; and I pray there never is one again. The fourth is meant to be bonfires, barbecue, patriotic music, and fireworks. We will come back strong and wiser next year, I have faith!

The first hint of what was to come snuck up on us Memorial Weekend. We had heard that folks were tired of quarantining in their homes, and the beach was beckoning with soft salty gulf breezes, wide open sandy beaches, and the infinite horizon of clean salt water. What could possibly be unhealthy about that? The weekend crowds now descend on the Seawall beginning early Saturday and head home Sunday afternoon. Last weekend was called “block car” party. I still haven’t figured out what a “block car” is:)

This weekend was obviously “hot car” party. The west end of the seawall is the perfect spot, with plenty of parking and walking about without traffic to contend with, as it is where the seawall dead ends. The crowds, at least in front of Diamond Beach, have been respectful and don’t even leave much trash. I’m praying that continues till fall. It gives me a reason to bike down the seawall every weekend, to catch up with the latest weekend theme party. No complaints from me, its free entertainment.

Heading down the seawall to the 61st Street Pier always provide a great people show on the weekends, as well. There’s always kite-flying, bird feeding, and tarp-parties with the smell of burgers and dogs wafting over the crowd. The only way to enjoy this show is via the bike. Parking is at a premium, and I’ve seen more than one yelling contest break out over a parking spot. My recommendation is to come very early to get the best spot. Even better, leave early before I-45 heading home becomes a real parking lot!

Looks like the island won again! Not a face mask in sight:) Everyone knows germs hate salt air, salt water, and sunshine. No self respecting germ would try and survive our Texas heat. I really thought the island might sink this time under the weight of all those happy beach goers descending on Galveston like prisoners who hadn’t seen sunshine in a year. Boogie boards, pink flamingo floats, fishermen, gulls, and even the ice cream man couldn’t resist this beautiful weekend. For me it was soul-reviving. We’re still America, home of the brave. As a “mature” American, I did keep my distance while shuffling through the tide and soaking up the joy all around me.

After such a nice beach walk, Panama Jack (my bike:) and I just had to tour the seawall and pick up a “Rita” at my favorite ice cream shop. There wasn’t an inch of parking left on this weekend. It did my heart good to see people lining up for the best smoothies on the island, a respectful distance from each other. I saw more kindness, and more courtesy than I have seen in many years. There was more careful consideration for each other, which is certainly a silver lining to this particular virus. Even the muscle cars that traditional line up at the end of the seawall kept respectful distance. The only real sign of concern flew from the back of a plane, warning to stay 6 feet apart.

Nothing seems different back home at Diamond Beach. All the rentals were filled, the swim up bar was open, the lazy river was floated, and the pool was filled with laughter from happy children. God is in His Heaven ~ all is right with the world:)

Mother nature has blessed Golden, Colorado, with an abundance of wildlife that inhabit the clear mountain streams, forests, and valleys. So much to see, so little time. Coloradans love their trails so much that even when the lakes are hard frozen and snow covers the pathways, they come out in droves to breath in the beauty of their state. It’s hard not to catch their passion, put metal cleats on your hiking boots, pull on your long handles, and a good goose down parka. When all this melts away, white turns to green on their network of pathways through it all; the joy of feeling the warm sun on your bare arms and legs is hard to beat. Tank tops and shorts are the new uniform, and a very welcome respite from the cold. On one particular path, Ika, Bo and I happened upon a crowd of hikers transfixed by what they saw below. It was a hawk feverishly constructing a nest so he could reside near the delicious fish nearby, available for the taking.

Back on the Clear Creek Trail, closer to home, the locals had spruced up the place with indigenous flowering plants for Bo to enjoy. They added some local art painted on the rocks that are so abundant near the Rockies:) Hand painted rocks are a very popular medium for the locals; as it really doesn’t take much talent to make a rock look artistic.

Now for the downside of spring, the yard was suddenly knee deep in rich green bermuda grass that grows so well there. Amazingly it survives under a blanket of snow until the great thaw, and effortlessly pops up to announce that spring has arrived. Matt bought a new electric lawnmower, perched Bo in his papoose, and taught his son how it’s done. As you can see, Bo prefers swinging to mowing. Who can blame him?

All good things must come to an end. It was time to go back to Texas reality. There was two-months worth of mail waiting, a condo balcony that was the worse for wear, and time to visit the family and friends back home. The wind-powered “wop-wops”, as my dad calls them, added interest to the flat Texas panhandle. It felt good to see the plains, flat all the way to the horizon. It felt even better to look out across the Gulf of Mexico once again. I am truly blessed to have both worlds.

The spring thaw began as tulips and wildflowers rose from the snow to bask in the warm sun, bringing butterflies and moths to attest to the pleasant season. While Colorado is not immune to the coronavirus, and the quarantine is evident as yellow tape can be seen along creeks and trails, most outdoor paths can be negotiated with a little rebellious spirit. Ika, Bo and I ventured out every day to enjoy all the nature that Colorado has to offer. Many locals obviously felt the same, as broken yellow tape gave way to the hikers, bikers and kayakers in the area.

Clear Creek runs through downtown Golden, providing white water beauty to a quaint downtown that is beautiful in itself. Bo has a particular passion for the sights and sounds of the mountain streams, now pouring down from the Rockies. It was a sure fire method of quieting the boy child noise that is ever present in the house, and allowed Ika and I a reprieve from Netflix, cooking, and keeping the house in order.

While there are many trails to choose from, the Clear Creek Trail runs beside the most art-filled downtown promenade Colorado has to offer. The murals abound over the century-old buildings, many of which are created from local rocks. The artists are local to the area, and are as enamored with this precious little mining town as we are. As Ika and I strolled the main street everyday, we said silent prayers that this beautiful little city remain intact, and the businesses continue to thrive past this pandemic.

Many of the locals are, like me, aging hippies who still wear their graying hair wild and free with the occasional flower adornment. Some came for the slopes, some came for the Colorado School of Mines, and all stayed for the beauty of the Rockies and all it has to offer. So special to me are the life-sized bronze sculptures that depict the wild west, complete with cowboys, horses, buffalo, and the ever present elk. While my home will always be overlooking the Gulf of Mexico, this place has stolen my heart.

This is the first Easter our family has not shared in an easter egg hunt at Diamond Beach. Like everyone else, we have battened down the hatches and even stayed in our separate homes for the duration of the coronavirus. I spent the first few weeks in Austin, with grandbabies there, before driving up to Golden Colorado to stay with grandson Bo and family there. I had to drive, as my kids wouldn’t hear of me getting on a plane, even coated in sanitizer, armed with antiseptic wipes, and wrapped in a face mask:) I was rewarded with the first white Easter in all my years of existence. We woke this morning to enormous flakes piling up in the trees, on the sidewalks, fences, and surrounding mountains. It was magical. The Easter bunny had to hop over piles of the white stuff to deliver Bo’s big Swedish egg. Ika taught us the tradition of one big egg filled little eggs and prizes. Bo was enchanted, although at 2 probably didn’t get the whole bunny rabbit thing.

Ika taught us a great deal about Swedish Easter traditions this day. She prepared the meal, insisting on doing it all herself, which was fine with Matt and I. It was a scrumptious array of sill (pickled herring), boiled potatoes, juhlberg cheese with hard breads, eggs deviled with shrimp and caviar (my personal favorite), marinated salmon, and princess cake for dessert. It was an incredibly rich variety of seafood, not surprising since Sweden is a virtual peninsula surrounded by water. I also consumed quit a bit of chocolate candy, since that was my sacrifice this Lent.

We were all stuffed beyond measure, so time to walk the neighborhood to see what a winter wonderland Golden had become. Even though the high temperature was in the low 20’s, the walk was refreshing and not a bit uncomfortable. The air is so dry compared to Galveston, the cold is easy to tolerate. I think 40 degrees in Galveston feels colder than 20 in Golden, or maybe it’s just more tolerable because of the beauty of the snow.

When we returned to the house, I noticed my little Texas-styled caddie covered in snow. She never looked prettier. Neither did Easter:)

As word of the coronavirus spread, many of us “oldies but goodies” felt compelled to quarantine with the grandangels. Family time continues to be the silver lining in this particular cloud. Forced to find joy in the “social distancing”, we did just that in the fields of bluebonnets that cover Austin in spring. Laura has documented the girls every year in the nearby flora and fauna. She is an extraordinary photographer, and has provided beautiful memories of so many special moments for friends and family. These pictures will be the most special, as they record a year that will be etched in the memory of the world. These times brought a special appreciation for this beautiful part of Texas where my granddaughters are blossoming. They need look no further than their own backyard.

The trampoline was invaluable in that whenever they had their fill of DisneyPlus, the boundless energy that all children need to exhaust played out for hours in their backyard. Then it was time to relax and let Mamou push them on the swing. Mama Laura had more educational plans in mind, though. Since a large area of the backyard is to be taken up by a pool, the vegetable garden had to be created in pots. We ordered large terra cotta pots from Home Depot for curbside pickup, along with soil, fertilizer, and plants. The girls are now watching tomatoes, peppers, and squash entertain the birds, to say nothing of the resident racoon:)

When Austinites were assured that school was going to close for the foreseeable future, Laura had a plan. Soon school supplies arrived at the front door, a curriculum was developed, and backyard play slowed to recess time only. All the extracurriculars the girls take for granted are now provided via Zoom, which is apparently something like Facetime, only includes an entire class joining in on their computers. The piano teacher, Life Kido guy, ballet instructor, hip hop lady, and even Aunt Katie teaching her yoga, all came into our living room on Laura’s oversized monitor. It was fascinating for Mamou to watch. These memories will be so special for the girls one day as they look back on the time America shut down to fight a battle to save many lives, and reconnect with family in very special ways.

My earliest memories of the great outdoors were trips to the family ranch, LaBelle. It has been in the family since around 1888 when a new postmaster J. E. Broussard named the post office LaBelle in honor of his fiancee, Mary Bell Bordages.  That was my great grandfather and great grandmother. He was a rice farmer and cattle rancher, who was larger than life. As he started buying all the land he could around LaBelle, Texas, it grew over his lifetime to span from LaBelle to the intracoastal canal that runs between Winnie and Port Arthur, some 40,000 acres. Beauty is certainly in the eye of the beholder, and in my great grandfather’s eyes this marshy terrain of mosquitos, alligators, rice fields, and Texas wildlife was heaven on earth. As he liked to say, there’s no more land being made, so a man can never have too much of it. Now five generations later, some of the land is leased to cattle ranchers and some to farmers. Most importantly for those of us who inherited an undivided interest in the property, it is a place to marvel at the wildness of the marsh and its inhabitants.

The marsh may seem completely useless to many, as you can’t farm it, and cattle don’t do well in it, but so many in our family grew up hunting the ducks and geese during the winter. My brothers and sisters were excellent shots, but I found out early on that I wasn’t much of a shot. In later years I was finally diagnosed with one farsighted eye and one nearsighted eye, to say nothing of the astigmatism:) No matter, I married an eagle eye who was one quarter Cherokee and had two sons who learned at the foot of the master. I was the duck cleaner and cooker. In fact today I’m quite proud of my duck gumbo. There was other wildlife to be enjoyed at a distance. Gators were abundant and nutria rats even more so. More than a few snakes as well, but no one wanted to photograph them:) My cousin Betsy had the good sense to marry Roger Smith, who is the most passionate about preserving the ranch, and in fact provided all these pictures that he snapped while surveying his hunting paradise.

Grandfather Broussard had the foresight to envision that future generations would love this property as he did. Ducks would always be plentiful for those who braved the cold marsh waters and alligators. Also, the mechanical inclination to keep a marsh buggy running. To really get up close to the birds, it was best to have an airboat and a duck blind (so the birds don’t notice you until too late:)

Family legend has it that while Grandfather Broussard would hunt the ducks and geese to provide for the family table, his real passion was fishing. The brackish water of the marsh provided a perfect habitat for red fish, and sometimes the occasional flounder. This was my personal passion as well. The largest redfish I have caught in this lifetime was over 8 pounds, and simply rose up out of the marsh waters holding onto my little plastic lure, giving me the fight of my life. So many memories to ponder as a shut-in. My hope is that my grandchildren enjoy the family property as much as I did:)

Maryellen and Dr Jim LeDuc are a cause de celebre on our island, for all they do for our community every day. I had the honor and privilege to share in their celebration of a wonderful journey through life together at Holy Rosary Church recently. We are blessed that they have chosen to make Galveston their home for so many reasons, not the least of which is Dr Jim’s continued contribution to the CDC. Maryellen, as a nurse of many years in her own right, contributes much effort to our Ronald McDonald House that provides so much assistance for families dealing with medical crisis. However, this day was all about their love and devotion to each other. Children and grandchildren traveled from all over the US to share in the joy of a celebration, a renewal of vows, and a blessing to all who attended. It was as if we were allowed to go back in time and glimpse what their first wedding was like. The first ceremony, 50 years ago, was bathed in sunny yellow, so like Maryellen’s personality. Today all the children and grandchildren sported yellow, from neckties to bouquets. Of course, it was an amazing coordination of movement and music. So like Maryellen.

Our beloved Deacon Sam, with the help of his Miriam, led the service with as much humor as solemnity. LOVED the story about Jim’s father-in-law upon meeting Jim for the first time, completely unimpressed with his “young man” choice of a refurbished porsche. What kind of a car for a man planning to create a family with his daughter? One of the granddaughters read a famous passage about what love truly is. Maryellen and Jim restated their vows, exchanged rings, and kissed to make it official. What a blessing to be a part of this beautiful love story. Let’s do this again in 2030!!