We stayed at a semi-nice hotel, but didn’t take the time to enjoy their namesake, an indoor pool area with plants, an atrium with a hot tub. It felt weird being back in Texas after four years; the last time was a type of family reunion for the wrong reason. This is also why we weren’t concerned with driving to Florence and knew that no one else would make the drive to San Antonio. For all the years I lived in this state, and the school field trips, and prior visits with Caleb, I had yet to see the famous River Walk, so we made a point to enjoy the day along its pedestrian street.

Upon seeing the Alamo, it at once appeared smaller and larger than I remembered when I was here before the turn of the century. I was accompanied by my ever-enthusiastic history teacher, and I would compare her passion for Texas vs. the United States, as the country sees the rest of the world. She still revered the creation of this great nation and all the states in it, but made clear which one was her favorite. I’m still making that decision for myself.

Life was busy on both sides of the river in the 1700s. The path between was lined with houses and stores until the late 1800s, when multi-story limestone and brick buildings were erected. An iron span bridge was built in 1890, and the present concrete bridge was constructed in 1914 along with retaining walls. The river was further enhanced with pavement and landscaping between 1939 and 1941, but it wasn’t until the HemisFair ’68 that the walkway began to become the second most popular attraction in the city.

Not wanting to lose our parking spot, we rent scooters, a first for both of us, and ride to the Mission Concepción, established in 1711. Parts of the church look like the paint just dried, while a majority of the walls and images are showing their age. We were going to rent bikes for the next leg of the journey, but decided to take the scooters back and drive to the other mission after we were done by the river. We have lunch at some restaurant. The best part was watching the ferocity with which the pigeons landed, splaying silverware and french fries with their wings in a hurry to grab and chomp down on what they could before the staff brought the water spray bottles in an attempt to curb their behavior.

I got a laugh, and eventually the birds retreated to the top of the canopies, awaiting the next opportunity. We walk back to the car, and I’m grateful that we drove to Mission San José, founded in 1720, when I realize how burnt I am, and stick to the shadows. This church is bigger and better kept. It also offers more open walking space that I can’t ignore. The mill here was the first in Texas, about 1794, and produced wheat for the Indians and flour for the surrounding settlements. The upper room was restored in 1930, and both still stand today.

We linger in the peace of the mill before having to deal with the traffic of Houston, because I can remember Mom getting stuck in circles until Uncle Robert came to meet us and escort us to where he and Aunt Janet lived at the time. We worry for no reason, as we are driving straight through, which only takes an hour. We stop for dinner at the Chambers County Safety Rest Area — complete with museum, playscape, nature trail, and mosquitoes. Caleb cooked while I explored. The signs said to look for raccoons, tree frogs, armadillos, and Copperhead snakes among the passion flower vine, Turk’s cap, wild onion, and bald cypress.

We reach the Port Arthur Refinery, which is hazardous to the local environment but beautifully lit amongst the dimming sky. Oil was found in Texas in 1901, and this facility was built shortly after. The company’s first products were gasoline, kerosene, and engine oil. WWI and WWII only helped expansion, and Gulf Oil became the nation’s largest producer of ethylene in 1955. By 1960, this facility was refining 270,000 barrels of crude oil per day into 600 different products. We followed the canal south, and once we turned west, we were met with a shades-of-tangerine sunset.

We were headed for a dead-end road that promised camping near the water at Sea Rim State Park, so close that with the looming lightning we deemed it too close for comfort, especially since the Boy Scouts had already abandoned their camp and left their undies and tents to blow in the wind. We resolved to drive into town and find somewhere else to sleep, and I’m so glad we did because we got to see an alligator dance in the road. I stopped to check him out in the headlights. I wanted to pet him as he was no more than three feet long, but the warning, “the baby is cute, but the mother is angry,” kept me from pursuing the reptile any further.