INCONVENIENCED CRIES FOR COFFEE
July 4th, 2025, in Kerrville, Texas, broke records and hearts. I awoke about 6:30 a.m. to find a newly formed lake on the golf course behind our house. Out the front kitchen window, the dry creek had filled and overflowed into the end of the street. The cul-de-sac featured a raised and curbed pebbled ground with large decorative rocks and 3 concrete benches. Water was 3-4 feet high and climbing up the street toward our house. Though still a distance away. Only the flag pole and the crepe myrtle were visible.
Electricity was off, which meant no coffee, no TV, no Internet, no way to see and hear what was happening. However, through Facebook we discovered we could read about the disaster. A massive wall of rushing water had encompassed summer camps in Hunt, Texas, then made its way downstream.
My husband Lynn and I live about half a mile “from the way a crow flies” to the Guadalupe River. When it runs high, which is rare, it overflows into a nearby creek. It then fills the dry creek that runs through Riverhill Golf Course that our house sits on. Between 7:00 and 8:00 that day, the water began to recede. How odd, so soon.
The news was spotty and episodic. Lynn and I continued to cruise Facebook for more tidbits. All the while whining about not being able to make coffee. With no coffee press in the house, we didn’t make coffee until just after noon. Only when the electricity came back on. It was then when we saw the mass destruction and heard the horrific stories on the news that we regretted our inconvenienced cries for coffee.
TERROR AND TRAGEDY
I cannot provide you any better photos than you have seen on television of Kerrville’s previously lovely and tranquil but now ravaged Guadalupe River. A wall of water brought terror and tragedy, but also generated a response of awe of what it can achieve or destroy. The county was evastated by a deluge that stripped and uprooted hundred-year-old trees, washed vehicles and homes down river, and pulled debris from the flood plain and left rubble in its wake for 100 miles. However, as you might expect, nothing compared to seeing it in person.
RESCUE AND TENDERNESS
So many people came to the rescue of survivors, homes, pets, and the river itself. The citizens of Kerr county were surprised and admiring of all the help we have received. Residents were asked to stay home, if not volunteering, and out of the way of those “working” in ways one should never have to work. It has been a busy several weeks since the 4th and the work continues.
GRIEF AND LISTLESSNESS
In the hours and days following, grief sat over this town like a ghost. Unseen but heavily felt. Overwhelmed and grateful, but worn down. I sensed grief pressing on my skin for a week or more, like invisible water in the air. I was listless and found it hard to focus. And I hadn’t even been directly impacted by the raging river.
TWO BARN SWALLOWS NESTING
On the other side of terror is tenderness. Just weeks before the flood, two Barn Swallows had make their messy nest just outside our front door. I wished they had chosen another location instead of our front porch. They tenderly laid their eggs, then defended the nest swooping and careening trying to keep me away as I came and went, walking the dog. PHOTO
I told them quite plainly, “You could have picked another spot.” I began paying attention to their comings and goings. Each night when I took out Murphy, our Shih Tzu, before bedtime, they sat atop the eggs. The two parents perched facing in different directions. It was so sweet to see them nurturing their nest.
EGGS HATCHING
One night they seemed to be sitting higher in the nest. Had the babies hatched? The swallows sat higher and higher each night. I listened for chirping, which was faint. Or was I just wanting to hear them?
One day I saw three pointy beaks up over the top of the nest, like little hay stacks from Monet’s paintings. The next day, the beaks were in full view, then the next, their little hooded eyes peaked over the nest’s edge. Before long they were sitting on top of each other.

THE FLEDGLINGS
It wasn’t long until they fledged.
They flew from their nest to our Jasmine bush, then to the Crepe Myrtle, all under the tender watch of parents. In the following days, they made it a little further to the gutter of the house next door. They looked just like mom and dad, blue and golden, except their tails were not yet as long.
The fledglings returned to the nest each night, until one night they were gone.
THE TENDERNESS OF HEALING
The Barn Swallows pulled me through the days and early weeks following July 4th, 2025.
Death and birth, birth to death: two ends of existence. Life continued on!
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MY BOOKS
Song of Herself, a story of a young horsewoman in 1906 who travels to India to sell her uncles horses. It is not the journey she expected or wanted but gave her the chance to grow into her own skin.
At Home in the World: Travel Stories of Growing Up and Growing Away, my coming-of-age travel memoir that covers ages 10 to 27. It is the story of my church and my mom, wise beyond her own experience and ahead of her time, who encourages and prepares me for international travel opportunities. I become a world citizen at a very young age and later in life leave home and the church that provided me growth opportunities.
Both stories suggest that travel can offer chances that help us build personal, psychological agency by which we become the author of our own lives.
If you read either or both books, I’d appreciate it, if you left a review on Amazon, Goodreads, or your favorite book platform.
where I stood.
promise their love and devotion to each other for a lifetime tomorrow.