We finally sold our home on Grand Valley and moved to Cypress, another suburb in northern Houston. At times, the years before our relocation had been anxious ones. We no longer enjoyed heavy storms. There had been a period when I found it exiting to sit on the hallway stairs leading to our second floor and watch the lightening as I looked through the screen door onto our porch. However, after Allison had deposited her foot of water on the tiles of that foyer, I was more anxious, than thrilled, each time there was a heavy storm. There is no entertainment in watching water creep over the front lawn and praying it will stop before it reaches the six-inch high slab making up that porch. Our prayers had been answered on several occasions; we had only one flooding during our eighteen years on Grand Valley. On the other hand, the requirement of letting potential buyers know we had been flooded, did decrease our chances of a sale. Then came two families from Chicago who wanted to live in homes close to one another. They bought two houses in Ponderosa Forest; one of them was ours.
One of our hobbies had been looking at new houses. Karen and I made “mushroom hunting” drives each weekend. Every realtor was responsible for a new batch of signs planted like fungal groups along the major streets in the Northwest. We followed their trails by looking but not taking any interest in buying. Then we happened upon the Longwood subdivision in Cypress, Texas. The homes, mainly in an acceptable price range, were located among the pine trees along Little Cypress Creek. The property at the corner of Wynfield Drive and Amsbury Lane appeared to be higher than the other lots in the neighborhood. We thought we might be safe there. We bought it and chose one of the house plans for our home in Cypress. We made weekly trips to watch it being built; I still have a video of the hours we devoted to those visits.
The community of Cypress was truly out-in-the-country. There was no country store; the main intersection for Cypress had the usual chain grocery store, drug store and gas station. There was even a stable nearby to offer a peaceful view on our drives from downtown to Longwood. Although the local parish of Christ the Redeemer was only a few minutes away, we continued to be part of the Christ the Good Shepherd community, where I remained as an active deacon. The drive time was only 45 minutes, if Louetta Road or Cypress Creek Road had no significant accidents. On a late evening, after meeting with couples preparing for marriage, I could make it in thirty.
The house, itself, was a one-floor, contemporary structure. We no longer wanted a second story, given the problems my father once had in climbing stairs at the age I was now approaching. I well recall how he sat on his stairs and made his way slowly up or down depending on where he next placed his rump. If his “lumbago” was hereditary, I wanted to be prepared.
We had as many rooms on a single floor as we had in our previous homes, albeit on a slightly smaller scale. The living and dining rooms faced south and were constantly hot. My study overlooking a good-sized backyard was comfortable at all hours. Karen now had her own prayer-room space. There was a guest bedroom in addition to our own master bedroom suite. The feature we liked best was a large family room, with built-in bookcases and a fireplace, adjoining a kitchen with a skylight. Entertainment was easy with open access between the two areas.
My interest in gardening returned. We had a pergola built over our patio that was covered with wisteria. I planted purple iris along one fence and jasmine and bougainvillea along another. A large pink magnolia bush did well near the covered patio, which was bordered by clematis and caladiums. One side of our house was framed with climbing roses; the front held gardens for crape myrtle, lantana, and day lilies. The fourth side was very close to that of our neighbors, who used one of their bedrooms as an exercise room. Unfortunately, the two pine trees we had purposely left standing in our front yard succumbed to pine-bark-beetles two years after we moved in. It was quite remarkable what small, unseen critters can do to twenty-foot trees.
I greatly enjoyed the neighborhood, itself, with its winding paths for walking and bike riding. Once again, we did not really get to know our neighbors, themselves, even with block-parties and neighborhood-night-out gatherings. Most of them appeared to be young, working couples. There were few children seen during the day. The local pool and nearby tennis courts appeared to be full of young folks when we passed by. We did not join the neighborhood golf club, but occasionally ate lunch in its grill. In order to have neighborhood friends, when you no longer have kids in school, it seems you need to join a country club. We never did.
On a few occasions we visited Tin Hall, located at the center of Longwood; it was the second oldest dancehall in Texas. The upper floor shook dramatically when weekend cowboys participated in line dancing on it. We first saw Tin Hall several years before we had moved to Longwood. One of my favorite memories was a result of our CGS community holding parties there. It was amazing to see and hear Fr. Ed bellowing out Cotton-eyed Joe! When we lived in the area, the music from Tin Hall was never heard at our residence on Wynfield. However, their fireworks display on July Fourth was worth watching, even at our distance.
I could have been very happy, I believe, continuing to reside in Longwood for the remainder of our lives in the Houston area. I formally retired when we lived there and looked forward to relaxing in the backyard, even if I had to do the digging for new plants and cutting the ever-growing grass that did so well with annual fertilizing each spring and fall. This life concluded some seven years after it had begun, when I requested an information booklet about a place called Eagle’s Trace.