A mural in the capitol building in Austin depicts the five flags of different countries that owned or controlled the area of Texas at various times in its history: U.S., Republic of Texas, Mexico, Spain, and France. The early Spanish ownership with their language, in conjunction with the influence of the Catholic church missionaries, lent a lot of names and identity to places in that region. The city of Corpus Christi translates as the Body of Christ. San Antonio comes from St. Anthony. A creek named Santa Gertrudis gave its name to the breed of cattle developed on the King Ranch, the creek in turn named for St. Gertrude. (The fact that the parish church we were married in shares its name with this breed of cattle seems a bit humorous.) The Mexican dictator who led the onslaught and slaughter at the Alamo had the unlikely surname Santa Anna. Saint Anne was the mother of Mary, who in turn was the mother of Jesus.
The Brazos River ran through Waco. While walking over a suspension bridge there, I learned the full name of the river was Brazos de Dios, or the Arms of God. Our Waco guide told me that when this bridge got built, Waco earned the nickname of Six-Shooter Junction because of the increased lawlessness that came with more access across this bridge. The bridge was the prototype for the Brooklyn Bridge. Its designer did his practicing here.
With that I'm going to end my Texas stories. Texas is a big place and has many things to experience. I could go on and recall the Texas Ranger Hall of Fame and Museum, the aircraft carrier Lexington docked in Corpus Christi and converted to a museum, Dirty Al's on South Padre Island where I ate the best seafood ever, our day trip across the border to Metamoros, Tex-Mex cooking, walking on the sands of the Gulf of Mexico, the unseasonably cold weather down there, etc. But that trip has to end. I want to think about other things now.
