The huge cottonwood had, apparently, reached the end of its practical life. I can only guess it was shedding limbs or, at the very least, threatening to shed limbs. Likely it was a threat to the post office next door or the the house that had lived in its shade for decades.
In this community — heavily, heavily Hispanic — its giant trunk offered comfortable space for a downtown shrine to the Virgin Mary.
For Michele and me the shrine reminds us that while we’re here, we are not part of an Anglo Protestant community like those we’d grown up in. If there’s a Methodist or Presbyterian congregation in Bridgeport, we’ve yet to stumble across it.
There are two restaurants and a food truck… Mexican food.
The annual ‘homecoming’ — Bridgeport Daze — was a festival of low rider cars, dancing horses and churros.
New? Yes. Almost foreign, in fact. But we have truly come to appreciate it. We stumble over the Spanish-language offerings at the meat market and conversations with locals are occasionally difficult. But we have genuinely enjoyed the community (we would like a bigger supermarket, but…) and the campground (it’s true the two air conditioners in our trailer fell short of our needs and we eventually added a portable unit, but…).
We love the scenery. The river. The huge variety of avian life. Familiarizing ourselves with a new local history. The boys who fish almost daily from our boat dock. And, of course, the campers.
The city has invited us back and we’ve accepted. This week we meet with the city council to talk about the season now ending and to discuss plans and recommendations for next season.
Already, we look forward to next spring.