Better than you think

In significant measure, I blame reluctant Houstonian Howard Hughes: in a fit of OCD-induced mania, he was apparently one of the first famous people to roundly denounce Houston as a "mosquito-ridden swamp", an inaccurate and dismissive perspective now immortalized in the phenomenal quasi-biopic that was produced in 2004, The Aviator. 

This is the Hughes family plot in Houston's famous Glenwood Cemetery (worth a day-trip).  You can't tell from this photo because I was peeking through the bars to get a clear shot, but it's actually surrounded by a high wrought-iron fence, possibly to keep people from defacing his grave out of frustration for the bad existential rap he bequeathed us.  

So pervasive is this attitude regarding the assumed toxicity of Houston's outdoor life that, on June 4, 2006 when a friend and I kayak'd the six miles of Buffalo Bayou from Loop 610 to  Allen's Landing, not only did we NOT see a single other soul on the water, we realized with a chill that we were among the very first modern Houstonians ever to do exactly that!! 

Can you imagine another city in America where a scene like this would be found??  Six million people in this city, and here was a beautiful Sunday on the water in late spring:  NO PEOPLE!!  Mass misinformation had kept everyone from realizing that this recreational treasure was right under their noses.

For the vast majority of you who will never experience the exhilaration of canoeing swiftly down the channel beneath one of the country's most intense freeways, here's a glimpse of IH-45's Pierce Elevated, as seen from the underside.

Proving that great minds think alike, about six weeks following this trip that we made, the alternative rag Houston Press published their groundbreaking (waterbreaking??) expose titled "Dark Water" (a tour de force in Houstoniana), and the Buffalo Bayou Partnership and other local community groups began intensifying their efforts to raise awareness and promote the bayou.  But I digress.

In fact, Houston's outdoor opportunities are more substantial than most folks assume.  Nobody will argue that we must endure the crappiest summer in the entire country.  But EVERY American place has debilitating drawbacks:  the Pacific northwest delivers bone-chilling rain for most of the year.  Ask me about my native northeast, and I'll provide you with twenty-six different terms describing snow.  Much of southern California has great weather, but the smog is so thick that you can't see your hand in front of your face, and if you live there, chances are that you won't be able to go outside anyway, because you'll be too busy working around the clock just to meet your mortgage payments.  I could go on, but you get the point.

Houston's best offerings are found in what most people would consider the off-seasons: spring and fall.  The secret to having a full recreational life here is to schedule yourself to seize the opportunities when and where they arise, rather than assuming that they are going to occur within the framework of some existing seasonal paradigm. 

With this in mind, I was delighted to see SciGuy's headline splashed all over the front page of the Houston Chronicle's online edition first thing this morning: today will be just about the nicest day of the year!!  Finally, someone else who gets it!!  Days like today are genuinely newsworthy. 

My advice: take the time to enjoy the weather and the outdoor opportunities now, before the Mean Season arrives.  Making an effort to do this now, when the opportunity presents itself, will help tide you over as we suffer through those hundred days of air-conditioned doom that will be upon us soon enough. 

And look to the details for delight:  Houston does not have sweeping vistas with mountains and forests, but on the smaller scale, beauty is still found.  With that in mind, I'll leave you with a few scenes that I've recorded within the past few days of after-work outdoor neighborhood ramblings:

Sunset over Centerpointe Drive a few days ago.
They don't get much nicer than this.



Gypsy broccoli satellites flowering. 



A loropetalum flowers defiantly after having had
most of its leaves frozen off in
the Great February Cold Snap.

A perfect Thryallis bloom.