ECOVIEW
No.2
Texas
Not your usual neighborhood
art show!!
Carl Lahser
ECOVIEW
No.2
Texas
Not your usual neighborhood
art show!!
Carl Lahser

Copyright © 1997 by Carl Lahser
All rights reserved. If you must copy any part of this work please give the author appropriate credit.
Published by:
Pretense Press
6102 Royal Breeze
San Antonio, TX 78239
Other books by the author:
Teacher, Leaves Don’t Change Color
Forty Years of Fishing
Weather watching
Chasing the Enterprise
Searching for the Phantom Crown
Cross-section through a Rainbow
Backdoor to the Yukon
Ecoview 1 - Not Your Usual Neighborhood
Ecoview 2 - Texas
Ecoview 3 - D.C.
Ecoview 4 - St Louis to Minneapolis
Ecoview 5 - Southwest
Ecoview 6 - Green Things
Summers End
Hey Momma, When we Goin Again
Bigfooting Around
Under the Southern Cross (Under Clouds)
Alamo Road
Texas to Alaska
Mr. Cuul in Yucatan
Thinking of Flying
Do Bears do it in the Woods
Traffic Games
All titles are available from Pretense Press. Booksellers
are encouraged to write for seller’s information.
Printed in USA.

TABLE OF CONTENTS
Texas
Catfish Harry 1 Thanksgiving Morning 3
Port Isabel 5
Desert Shenru 6
Fossil Mind 8
Maybe its not too Late 8
Desert Twilight 8
Summer Madness 10
Airport Jewels 11
Lightning Bugs and Woodpeckers 12 Intercoastal Canal 13 Land of Disgrace 14 Rain in Three Parts 15
It Must Be Winter 16 Autumn Moonlight 16 Ground Fog 17
The Alamo Remembered 18
The Menger Bar 19
West side One 19
Night Skies 20
Time, She has Changed 21
I had a Rose for You 22
Three Cold Beers 24
Ecoview No. 2 is the second of a series of personal geographic portraits. I consider them to be a sensitive, mater-of-fact, and possibly controversial collection of verbal pictures of Texas over the past 50 years of people, situations and interactions with nature. Ground fog. Wild flowers. Air pollution. Back roads. Neither for nor against anything in particular, these are observations from my point of view. Feel free to disagree. Even I sometimes change my mind rereading some of these insights.

Texas
Texas has a lot of space, a lot of potential for sights and sounds, and some strange characters. Here is a peek at a few.
CATFISH HARRY
Back when I was 5 or 6,
just a little towheaded lad,
I tagged along to visit a fisherman,
an old friend of my dad.
He lived on a houseboat
on a backwater slough
and catfishing was his fame.
A noodler, he caught the big ones by hand.
Catfish Harry was his name.
He also ran trotlines
with stink bait of sun dried clams.
He knew every creek for miles around
and every irrigation dam.
His houseboat stunk
and was covered with flies
(you could smell it a mile up wind).
He traded his fish for food and beer
and other odds and ends.
We sat outside and talked for a while
then he asked if we'd like something to drink.
I took a soda and my dad took a cup
of coffee that looked like ink.
Harry said his coffee was special,
"Sock coffee", was the name he used.
"Ya put a hand full of grounds in a sock
and a glug or two of booze."
"Then you add an egg or two
and a pinch of salt
and some water into the pot.
Then, you boil it 'til its done
and what do you have?
Good coffee, boiled eggs and clean socks."
We laughed at the thought of sock coffee.
Dad said, "You better change
your brand of beers.
Just what the Hell
would you do with clean socks?
You haven't worn shoes in years."
A little more talk and we picked out a big fish
then shook hands and said our goodbyes
and drove back up the road leaving Harry
with his houseboat, sock coffee and flies.
+++++

1

2

Thanksgiving Morning
It was Thanksgiving morning and
we were headed for her mothers' for dinner.
We would go to my parents for Christmas.
My old Mercedes was running well
as we flew down a two lane East Texas road through the red sand and pines
headed for Tyler.
Half a mile ahead a 1950 Chevy
covered with red dust pulled on the highway.
I slowed a little and signaled to pass.
I was about fifty feet off his left rear fender
when he moved into my lane and
cut me off.
He did this several time
and poked along at 40 mph
so I slowed down and followed him.
Several other vehicles tried to pass.
They were also cut off and pulled in front of me
until I was number eight in line.
Then a young woman with several kids
tried to pass
and the Chevy ran her off into the ditch.
A pickup with three young men
who had been tossing out
occasional beer cans stopped to check
on the car in the ditch.
She was OK so the pickup
shot past the line of cars.
The Chevy tried to cut him off but
the pickup rammed the Chevy
and forced it off the road.
Most of the other cars stopped.
People were piling out
with several guns, clubs and a rope
running for the Chevy.
I drove on by and never saw the driver.
+++++
Port Isabel
In the summer of 1946 gas rationing stopped.
My father took a job painting a beach house
near Point Isabel on the South Texas coast.
It was my eighth summer and I went along.
We slept on Army surplus folding cots.
I helped some and played in the sand dunes.
My father never shopped for groceries so
we had bought dry cereal but forgot the milk.
Ice water and lots of sugar on Wheaties.
Lunch and supper were taken
at a bar just down the road.
Hamburgers, fries and a Coke
A jukebox that played the same song
over and over.
"If I sent a rose to you
for every time you made me blue
You' have a room full of roses."
I memorized the song and every time
I hear it I remember my father
and summer and Port Isabel.
+++++
DESERT SHENRU
Desert beauty comes
in many forms - sights, sounds, smells
textures, temperatures.
Some are commonplace, some rare-
pastel colors, quiet, sudden death.
A new white pickup
licked to bare metal by cows.
The oak does not care.
Mesquite thorns in thick, rubber tires.
Cattleguards rattle breaks the silence.
Cactus, ocotillo.
Creosotebush of ancient age
in circular clumps.
Yucca, rock, locoweed.
Mountains in a distant haze.
Hot sun, high thin clouds.
Gnat-sized vultures circling.
Heat waves shimmering.
Mirage lake water and trees
Beckon to a nether world.
Thirst and heat abound
But seek not this phantom lake.
Go by night with care.
Avoid the sun and heat.
Water is a precious gem.
Desert night is cold.
Seek shade but beware the night .
Nocturnal creatures,
Tarantula, gecko, coyote,
scorpion, night hawk, cactus moth.
Cold, clear air, moon, stars,
Phantom glow, shadows that move.
Early morning fog
hides rock and bush like ghosts
and hide the browsing deer.
Desert beauty comes
in many forms - sights, sounds, smells
textures, temperatures.
Some are commonplace, some rare-
pastel colors, quiet, sudden death.
+++++
Fossil Mind
I sit in the midst of a Cretaceous fossil bed,
A hillside of marine animals
50 million years dead.
A submerged reef of oysters turned to stone
now lies exposed to the western sun.
Time has flown
and the sea has gone. The shells remain.
Mute evidence that nothing is permanent
but change.
+++++
Maybe its not too late
A golden orange moon in a violet sky
A pearl-white sun glowing
in a dark brown haze
A few concerned people know the reason why
and are afraid that man
has numbered his days.
Stack gas plumes green, yellow and brown
Water that burns and can't support fish
Point this out and industry frowns.
They're not responsible for filling mans wish.
Those aware of our numbered days
are pushing hard to get our attention.
Big business resists but a bite in their profits causes lots of contention.
+++++
Desert Twilight
The sun sets.
The orange sky turns red.
The red to the black of no color.
Night merges the dark and cool
as twilight meets the eastern darkness.
Moon shadows of the full moon
black over pale monochrome
hides the night creatures
and turns skittering leaves to mini-monsters
and small stones to boulders or chasms.
A Killdeer, near invisible in the moon shadows
erupts running
and then flying
with a familiar but startling
Kildee, Kildee.
Nighthawks glide out of the dark
on silent wings
feeding on insects of the evening.
I walk slowly through the evening
an alien in this evening world.
+++++
Summer Madness Is Finally Here
It looks like a long, hot summer already.
The temperature has started to climb.
Militants have started to riot.
The destitute are turning to crime.
Its too hot to sleep or work
And they'd kill you for only a dime
If it wasn't so damned hot.
Maybe some other time.
The weather is dry.
The sidewalks fry.
Lawns and trees cry.
Cold weather's a lie.
I want ice cream pie.
I've run out of rhymes and patience so
Ihopetheycanfixmydamdedairconditioner NOW!!
Thank heaven for ice water
and mesquite tree shade
while I wait for the bad news.
$300!!!
It better be one Hell hot summer
or I'm gonna be mad.
+++++
Airport Jewels
An airport ramp, halogen lit,
with aircraft,
fuel trucks,
and baggage carts
all part of a warm tangerine glow.
A glow that gives way
to blackness of the airfield.
The airfield lights come on -
sapphire blue braids of taxiway lights;
white diamond runway boundary lights;
an orange string of carnelian lights
down the runway center line;
ruby lights marking the touchdown threshold;
emeralds marking intersections -
a collection of jewels displayed
on the black velvet drape of night.
+++++
LIGHTNING BUGS AND WOODPECKERS
A Boy Scout camp out in 1945
We Boy Scouts were camped in the brush
along the Rio Grande River.
Tents were up and a fire had been started
for hot dogs and ghost story shivers.
The hot dogs and canned pork and beans
only took the edge off our appetites
but the ghost stories really worked.
All night the flashlights flickered like fireflies
as our brave Scouts hunted more fire wood.
They were joined by the woodpecker sounds
of Boy Scout hatchets.
Ghost stories, fireflies and
woodpeckers all night long.
When the sun finally rose
we Scouts didn't want to.
+++++
Intercoastal Canal
The intercoastal canal
breaks from the sea in Louisiana
and avoids the Gulf of Mexico through Texas
like a two year old mad at its mother.
Tugs push and pull barges,
many with a hazardous cargo, along the canal
like trypanosomes in a malaria patient.
The canal has caused change:
fresh water swamps are brackish;
brackish bays are saltwater.
Wakes cause soil erosion.
Propellers keep the water turbid.
Dredging causes both deep channels
and spoil banks and piles.
Ecosystems are destroyed;
nursery beds for shrimp and fish eliminated;
biodiversity changed.
It separates coastal marsh land
from rice fields and pastures.
An occasional bridge lets man
maintain communication with the sea.
We could never build this canal now.
+++++
THE LAND OF DISGRACE
The sun is warm on my hands and my face,
a rare pleasant spot in my land of disgrace.
All that I own is on my back
or in my rucksack or stuffed in my pack.
I saw too much and had my fill of warring
but peace to the public is just plain boring.
These days you can't stay in the military.
War was bad but not this scary.
I lay on the concrete and doze in the sun
Under an overpass on Interstate None.
The sun is warm like whole wheat toast
and I dream of a life on a tropical coast.
I'm hungry and alone but I'm not up tight.
I'll eat tomorrow if I don't freeze tonight.
It's been a long time since I've seen a soft bed.
Next time I'm not wanting I may well be dead.
Too many people like me in this place,
in this land of the homeless,
this land of disgrace.
+++++
Rain in Three Parts
1
From gray, amorphous clouds
falls rain looking like a horses tail
flipping slowly in the wind.
Sometimes the rain
blows away or evaporates
before it hits the ground
2
Look ahead.
In the distance the horizon
becomes blurred then
disappears into a cloud
as rain cells drop their load
of heavy rain within the lighter showers
3
After the rain
standing water reflects,
reflecting sunlight
like a broken string of mirrored beads.
Ponds and cattle trails are red beneath silver.
Liquid silver strands in the rows of a new field.
Water to make the summer green.
+++++
It Must be Winter
I lay in a hospital bed
looking out at the night sky.
No nighthawks or bats
cast shadows in the security lights
chasing supper.
It must be winter.
+++++
AUTUMN MOONLIGHT
Hills and valleys
in the ivory autumn moonlight
An owl call
beckons wandering souls
Hills to ponder
in a cool breeze
A valley of ethereal shade
invites exploration
Inviting scents
abide in the autumn air
Cast caution to the wind
and claim the wonders of the night
+++++
GROUND FOG
Hill tops float darkly
on a sea of white ground fog
disconnected from the rest of the earth
Brush and trees
fade into the creeping mist
silhouetted briefly against the glowing fog
Mist turns yellow
backlighted by the sun
behind the hill
Vegetation materializes piecemeal
turning gray then green
as a glowing white ball
floats upwards through translucent air
A dove launches itself into the fog
on whistling wings going nowhere
A cottontail hunches down
still nibbling a leaf
in the cool, damp dawn
As the ground fog burns off
the earth expands
and the horizon asserts itself
+++++
Four for San Antonio
1. THE ALAMO REMEMBERED
Fifty years ago the Alamo I remember
was cool and dark
and had a smell of dust
like an archeological dig
and a feel like a shrine to
SOMETHING IMPORTANT.
Today the Alamo was just another museum
with conditioned air
spot lighting
brass plaques
visitors center and guides
It does not feel like a remembering place
but only another historical display
where you can stand on the marker
of that very spot
where someone thinks
an important event occurred.
A museum not quite completed but
not a place of remembering.
A place where the tourist gotta go.
+++++
2. THE MENGER BAR
The bar in the Menger Hotel
is small and dark - intimate.
It's certainly not the bar
of a hundred years ago
where Colonels Teddy Roosevelt and Leonard Wood
organized the "Rough Riders"
that fought in Cuba
in the Spanish-American War.
What would they think
of the yogurt parlor next door.
But maybe that is what they fought for -
Free Enterprise!
+++++
3. WEST SIDE ONE
The old man sits on the front steps
of the white shiplap house
on south Alamo St,
the house he grew up in.
He sits and listens
to the summer cicada in the hackberry tree
and the rumble of trucks and busses.
He is comfortable in a plain white T-shirt
and a weeks growth of white beard.
His bad fitting dentures sit in the kitchen.
He and the house are getting old.
++++
4. NIGHT SKIES
There were night skies,
black with twinkling stars
and meteors on cool evenings.
Full moon nights with a bluish sky
where scattered thin clouds
below the moon looked dark and
those above the moon
glowed luminous cream colored wisps.
Fifty years ago the night sky
of San Antonio was like that.
The city has grown and
the night sky has changed.
Thirty years ago the black sky
and the stars disappeared.
The night sky turned to a white glow
from the reflected blue
of mercury vapor lights.
Now the sky is orange and pink.
Halogen lights that protect our parking lots
and lead our freeway traffic
through smoggy haze of exhaust fumes
reflect from the overcast.
Darkness and stars overhead
have become rare and precious,
a treasure we pay dearly to be without .
+++++
TIME, SHE HAS CHANGED
It was once that any time my hand
touched her thigh
or caressed her hip
or stroked her breast
that my Chica would roll over
and satisfy my manly needs.
I am still macho and the need is still there
but time, she has changed.
Mi Chica, now she acts like the gringas
I knew when I played Sancho in my youth.
The gringas often said "No"
and would fight like they meant," No".
Now when I touch mi Chica it is like a spark.
It makes her jump away like my hand was hot.
I am still macho and I still have my needs
but many times I am left like a stallion stud
on a hot summer day
with his macanudo displayed
just cooling himself.
Time and mi Chica, they are changing.
Sancho is getting old and the gringas,
they say "No" more often .
And they want me to wear a raincoat
when I take a shower.
But they don't understand that I am macho
and must feel my pleasure.
They think I must change like the time.
But I am macho.
+++++
I had a Rose for you but
Hi, Mom and Dad. I know its been a while.
I had a rose for you
but I just came from a funeral.
He was no one I particularly cared about.
I don't even know his name
and I'm sure I never saw him before.
I was coming here with a rose for your marker
when I saw a woman dressed in black
and a priest saying words
over a casket with no flowers.
So I walked over and stood beside the coffin.
Without looking she said, "He was a good boy".
I agreed.
"The drugs killed him."
"That is sad", I consoled.
"The Army taught him about drugs",
and she started to weep.
The priest had finished his words
and put his arm around her shoulders.
She wept softly.
"He must have loved his country," I replied.
The priest put out his hand,
"Bless you, my son."
"I didn't know him", I said.
The priest looked curious.
I turned and put your rose
on the casket in the open grave.
"No mother of a brother in war
should bury her son alone," I explained.
Now your rose in interred for eternity.
I'll bring you another next week.
+++++
Three Ice Cold Beers
The 1959 sun rolled off the hood
in shimmering sheets
that crawled through the car's vent
at 140 degrees.
The three of us were about to melt,
July heat had beat us to our knees.
The two lane concrete highway shivered.
The top of oncoming traffic dripped
the rest of the vehicle onto the road.
The last luke warm water was sipped.
Then the first house
on the outskirts of Freer creeped by
as civilization reared its beautiful head.
We parked by a restaurant
near the town's blinking light
near the railroad station and a packing shed.
A rusty screen door
had a painted orange comet
that advertised Rainbo Bread.
We opened the screen door
and entered the shade
and for the moment the hot heat fled.
The wooden screen door
slammed behind us twice
and a cat on the counter
raised its head and glared.
We took a table
under a grumbling ceiling fan
and asked what the cook to spare.
The waitress,
who must have been all of fourteen,
said, "The chili is good today."
So we each ordered a bowl of chili
and an ice cold beer
and listened to the jukebox play.
The chili came with two slices of bread,
half an onion and a pickle spear.
We each got a glass of crushed ice
and a brown bottle
of warm Shiner Bock beer.
The chili and beer, the cat and the song,
lunch was over much too soon.
We were back on the hot concrete ribbon
heading to Corpus and a half-full moon.
Now cars are all air conditioned,
the road has six lanes,
and you can drive three hundred miles with no fear.
The screen door
and restaurant
and light are gone
but you can still get Shiner Bock beer.
+++++

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Yáll come back,
ya heya.