Coming back into the city today. A contrast in smells.
This morning, 6:30 a.m., leaving the house we had rented for the last two days outside of Cat Springs.
Top down – sun just beginning to turn the sky pink and orange. The Black Dog riding shotgun. The smell is moist dew on mossy oak trees and an occasional whiff of a working ranch that hosts cows, llamas, buffalo, and donkeys. The soft, distant, earthy smell of fresh manure.
An hour and a half of inching into Houston on the Katy Freeway. Exhaust: diesel, gasoline, and emotional.
Eldridge Road north from I-10. Eldridge cuts through Bear Creek, which is part of the Addicks Reservoir flood zone built by the Army Corp of Engineers. This is a fun road. Wide, good pavement and smooth but determined curves. There is usually very little traffic, which allows for a good, fast run.
Today the smell is a gag inducing stench. The entire reservoir has been standing in a few feet of water for two weeks. It is vile. These are acres and acres which are covered with tall grasses, and oak, pine, and mesquite trees that normally smell fresh and wild. The land here is still rough. Even though it is surrounded by the city more or less on all sides, there is wildlife that thrives. White tail deer, skunks, armadillos, snakes, opossum, feral cats, raptors, song birds, and the occasional report of an alligator that most of us locals laugh off. The stench is overwhelming.
This is the smell of rotting vegetation, animal waste, and the bloated reek of the bodies of animals killed in the hurricane, their bodies decomposing and becoming part of the overall revolting melange. I gasp for air through my mouth, demanding more speed from my car – fleeing this place where I would normally linger.
Turn right on Clay. Head out of the flood zone, into the suburbs of Spring Branch. I cross Gessner. The smell is sublime. It is irresistible. It is sensual. It is hedonistic after Bear Creek. It is unmistakable - fresh baked bread. It is the epitome of warmth, safety, peace, and industry. It is the local HEB Bakery. It is the morning’s fresh bread coming from the massive industrial ovens.
It is the contrast of a city devastated by wind and rain. The stench of the flood zone and the heaven of fresh, hot bread both say the same thing: progress is happening. Life is slowly returning. Some things must rot to begin to live again. Some things rise with only a little yeast and warm water.
It is hard to be here. When I am not here I can almost - almost - put it out of my mind - the why of why I'm in another town, not sleeping in my own bed. I am glad to be back near Houston - we've got a hotel in Katy for a few day - but I miss my home and I want to go back. CenterPoint, I'm trying to have faith.Labels: headlines, personal urban drama, texas |
