Our first home in Houston was actually in the suburb of Spring, Texas, or perhaps “greater” Spring, since I was never able to locate anything that might have been “downtown” Spring, unless it had once been the area now known as Old Town Spring. The shops found in Old Town were marvelous for quaint sightseeing and browsing. The menu for the Wunsche Brothers Café and Saloon, opened in 1902, was magnificently German. The sauerkraut balls, which had some sausage mixed with the kraut, could satisfy my appetite completely, but I usually had a ‘burger, as well. In 2015, the building was destroyed in a fire. For several years, there were promises it would be rebuilt. Finally, it was reopened in 2021. I haven’t tried the restored sauerkraut balls but hope they haven’t changed.
The suburbs of Houston continue to hold a few Germanic sparks from early settlers in Texas. The Hispanic influence has gradually increased during the four decades we have lived here, along with a Southeast Asian arrival of Vietnamese, who have joined the previously existing Chinese culture. There are sections of Houston where the street signs are in Chinese; they are usually not direct translations of the English name. Another cultural influence has been the result of the influx of residents from New Orleans, with their French-Arcadian-Creole elements, following the aftermath of hurricane Katrina, which devastated southern Louisiana and the Crescent City several years ago.
Our own home on Grand Valley Drive was a French-Colonial house with a front balcony and wrought-iron railings. Grand Valley, itself, was located on flat land on the edge of a “hundred-year flood plain.” When we moved in, we Yankees had no idea what this term really meant. Our house was near Greens Bayou, a waterway prone to overflow after a heavy rain. Later, we learned the bayous surrounding Houston were a significant part of the city’s drainage system. They were designed by nature to carry water rapidly into the Gulf of Mexico, especially after a major storm or hurricane. Tropical storm Allison, which, in 1989, sat over our house for twenty-four hours, taught us about a “hundred-year flood plain.”
During the storm, we anxiously watched the water rise slowly into our front yard. We knew something was not right when more water began to ooze between the tiles in our entryway. We moved as much of our belongings as we could to the second floor and spent the evening with friends in the neighborhood, albeit several blocks farther from the bayou. Twenty-four hours later, the foot of water had drained from our first floor. We stood on our balcony and watched motorboats speed down the street.
This was the spring prior to Ken’s wedding with Tracey. For several months, we lived through a reconstruction involving the tearing out of downstairs walls, to a height of fourteen inches, and the elimination of our carpeting, stuffed furniture, and bookcases broken apart by swollen books. We were amazed at how rapidly discarded furniture disappeared from our curb, lugged off by passersby.
Since we were living on the “last street in the 100-year flood plain,” we had been required to purchase flood insurance. Our friends on the next street did not have this requirement and suffered losses not covered by any insurance. We, at least, received about $40,000 for the damages done by Allison. As for Ken’s wedding, it went as planned in August, but their engagement party was held in the home of Karen’s dear friend, Sally G.
With respect to normal living in our home on Grand Valley, before and after Allison, I continued to enjoy gardening, although my enthusiasm was diminished by several conditions not directly related to flooding. Of course, weather was the major one. I had not realized what it would be like to work outdoors in a climate as humid as the one we found here. Furthermore, I had to learn about entirely new species which would survive in an everyday garden. My beloved forsythia, lilacs and rhododendrons, common to New England, were replaced with azaleas and camellias, along with elephant-ear greenery. The area left for grass was much smaller than what we had in Amherst.
The ground floor had a large living room, dining room, and family room with adjoining dining nook, kitchen and a guest bathroom. We lived on Grand Valley for eighteen years and, until the flood, did little to change the inherited wallpaper and carpets. We had kept the weird wallpaper with its shining peacocks as part of the hallway decor, along with the wallpaper in the dining room (flocked) and kitchen (wide stripes)! We even kept the green-shag carpet in the family room, until the “reconstruction” after Allison allowed for its replacement! Indeed, good results can come from bad events.
Once again, Ken and Kip had their own spaces. I regained a study only after Ken went off to college. Although much of the time Deb was away at Syracuse University, we retained her own bedroom for her use during the summer, and as a guest room, in case any arrived. (Few did.) A master bedroom, with its bath and walk-in closet, opened onto our balcony through a French door.
Although our residence on Grand Valley Drive was a comfortable house, which held all of our colonial furniture and possessions from New England, it did not, for me, really replace the beloved home we had in Amherst. My nostalgic feelings about a place to live, comfortably, in Texas, were finally addressed when, several anxious years after Allison, we were able to sell our French Colonial and move to Cypress, Texas.