mama says om: comfort

Over the river and through woods is the road that leads to Comfort, Texas. A town nestled in the hill country, with a population of about 1600, just northwest of San Antonio. As you exit off of I-10, the ramp swings to the left and over the green Guadalupe river that runs through banks of magnificent Cypress trees at least thirty feet tall. During the summer you can see tubers pass by below with their sunburns and beer coolers floating along side their innertubes.

Cypress Creek runs around the edge of town and has taken over now and then when there is an excessively rainy season. In 2002 when I was eight months pregnant with our second son, it started raining and didn't stop for a month. The average annual rainfall for Comfort is 32 inches, and we got that in just three weeks. The river swelled until it looked like the ocean and many people lost everything. My son was born shortly after the waters receded and I was grateful to be able to drive to the hospital instead of being lifted out by a helicopter, as some other expectant mothers were during the weeks of the flood.

We moved to Comfort to get away from the big city and be nearer to family. The idea of a small town appealed to both of us and Comfort didn't let us down. Everywhere we went, we knew people. We could never just run into the video or grocery store without seeing a neighbor or friend and visiting for a while. When I began work at one of the local gift shops, I was surprised at the local customs. Once, a customer called five minutes before we were closing and said she needed some of our coffee beans. She said for me to leave them with her friend down the street and she'd leave a check for us under the door. I checked with my employer, expecting her to scoff, but she said of course it was okay. Since everyone knew everyone, there was accountability and trust.

It really was like living back in time. The barber gave our first-born his first haircut and said not to worry about paying him. He also gave me a free haircut on my 30th birthday. Comfort used to be the home of the longest running family owned general store in the state of Texas, Ingenhuetts, until earlier this year when it was destroyed by a fire. Although we had already moved away when it happened, we were stunned. I still remember taking our kids there for lollipops and perusing their eclectic selection of merchandise. I was a huge loss for the town. I don't think it will ever be the same.

But one of the fondest memories I have of Comfort, and I know my boys do as well, is visiting their grandmother's house. In my mind, I can still smell the flowers and candles and the cool burst of air when opening the front door to her house. She always had jars of candy and platters of fruit and other goodies laid out for anyone who might stop by, and people were always stopping by. She lived on the main street of Comfort and her home was over 100 years old. You could just feel the history in it. And when you visited her, you could always count on an ego boost. She would compliment your hair, your shoes, even your teeth, for heaven's sake. My husband said he'd had a hard transition into the real world after having a mother who thought he was the smartest, cutest, wittiest person ever born (he actually is, though).

We had our rehearsal dinner on her patio with hundreds of twinkle lights strung through the trees around us. She had a natural gift for decorating and homemaking and even designed a "bearcub" room with bunkbeds for the boys to stay in when they visited. Her huge front porch was the place to be for the 4th of July and Christmas parades each year and she always welcomed everyone to come, sit and visit, and watch together. She would prepare so much food, from garlic grits to salads in a wooden bowl as big as a table, and we would all eat and drink and laugh and then head home. But reluctantly. To us, she was the matriarch, she was the nurturer. She was Comfort.




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