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The Victoria

GAZETTE

by Sue Orsen

         We went home for a few days last month, to spend a little time with my mom and dad -- Joe and Betty Claeys -- and to celebrate Dad's birthday.  I'm not speaking of the farm near Ghent, MN, where Mom and Dad also have a home, their roots, and their fields with amber waves of grain.

         I'm referring to their home near the Rio Grande, the river and the valley just north of the Mexican border, in Alamo, TX, where my parents built their wintertime abode long ago near fields of cabbages and orange trees.

         With my own children, we've enjoyed fresh squeezed orange juice at their breakfast table, fried catfish at their dinner table, and plump pink shrimp for supper.   I don't think we've ever driven to South Padre Island without stopping to pick up fresh shrimp from roadside fishermen. 

         In any case, when you eat and sleep often enough at your mom and dad's place, over the course of time you come to see it as home even if you didn't grow up there.  Also, when you're happy just visiting and playing cards, and you don't need to spend every day sightseeing, you know you're home.

         But one adventure we always include at home on the Rio Grande is a trip into Mexico, to the City of Progresso, to be more exact.  The ritual remains unchanged.  We park on the USA side, observe and hear hundreds of chirping blackbirds filling trees next to the parking lot, and walk on foot across the covered walkway that is part of the International Bridge.  As we reach the Mexican side, there are children on the banks underneath the bridge begging for coins with their familiar lingo.  "Lady, hey lady!"  We throw coins to them through the slats in the bridge.  Some of the braver kids climb to the top of the bridge and poke their caps through the slats as they beg us to put money in them.  "Lady, hey lady!"  We always oblige.

         As we step off the bridge, we encounter a large sculpture of an eagle chewing on a snake at the entrance to the country.  I suspect it signifies the triumph of good over evil.  After I take a picture of Mom seated next to it, we file through the turnstiles, each of us needing a quarter to pass through to the main street in front of us.

         For the first time ever, I see armed Mexican guards dressed in dark green and black camo clothing, and each of them is holding a machine gun.  An army tank is also positioned at the gate.  The guards are checking trunks of cars and scrutinizing people as they prepare to leave Mexico and don't seem concerned with those of us who are entering the country.  I suppose that's because people don't smuggle drugs into Mexico but vice versa.  I wanted to take a picture of the guards and the guns but I didn't dare.  Border violence and beheadings might not be occurring in Progresso as in other border towns, but I still didn't think it wise to point a camera toward anyone who wasn't smiling.

         Then we begin our walk down the sidewalk lined with vendors and shops, most of them being pharmacias.  We check out the price of penicillin as we begin our comparison shopping but nothing holds more priority at this time of the morning than getting to the bakery.  The bakery is always our first stop.  We must have a cup of coffee and a sweet roll.  It's part of the tradition.  I also ordered a plate of  bacon.

 

Click here to continue At Home on the Rio Grande.

April 2011
Text Box: At Home on the Rio Grande

That's my dad on the left and my husband on the right, walking south across the International Bridge over the Rio Grande near my parents home in Texas.  Mom and I are only a few steps behind them.