I come from Southwest Texas tierra, cacti, mesquite trees and the Nueces River. Spanglish is my heart language.
That’s how I introduce myself to people.
I'm from Crystal City, or Cristal, as we natives call it. It’s my retreat, where I reconnect with my family and friends.
I never imagined it would flood like it did last week, when a multi-day storm wreaked havoc across Texas. Two people died in the storm, and floodwater inundated my hometown.
“It’s been raining a lot lately, this summer,” my little sister, Kate, told me, “but I don’t remember it raining this much.”
I’m used to hot, dry summers and a sky where you can see an abundance of stars. Drought is not uncommon – but we know how to survive.
Agriculture and ranching are important to this community. We are the “spinach capital of the world.” The city was even gifted a Popeye statue in 1937 by his cartoonist, E.C. Segar.
From Dallas, where I live, I always keep an eye on my small hometown. I may be far in miles — about 400 — but never far in my heart.
When I saw drone footage of flooding in areas that were once bone dry last week, I couldn’t believe it. I knew I had to get home. But all roads to Crystal City were closed. The highways — 90, 85, even farm roads — were blocked. I panicked.
Friends were posting about their families’ homes in the Mexico Chico and Chula Vista neighborhoods in town being flooded.
I called my mom, but she didn’t answer. I was desperate. I texted friends and checked updates from the Zavala County Sheriff’s Department, which had been identifying affected streets in posts on social media.
Mom eventually called back. She was OK. But I had to see for myself. The roads finally opened on Sunday, so I headed south. I can never get here fast enough when my heart is in need of comfort.
Some things seemed foreign, out of place, to me. My old middle school, Sterling H. Fly Jr. High School, was now a shelter. I’ve seen it rain here, but never enough to actually displace people.
But other things felt familiar. Imelda Salinas, the wife of the Zavala County sheriff and my old high school mentor and cheer coach, was notifying folks on Facebook where they could donate the essentials: mosquito spray, cleaning supplies, diapers, wipes, and personal-hygiene supplies.
That’s Crystal City – and really all of Zavala County, Batesville and La Pryor included. When something happens, residents don’t hesitate to lend a helping hand. From donating food to showing up as volunteers, if one person hurts, we all hurt. I’ve carried this mentality my whole life.
Now that the water has subsided, families are beginning to assess what they can salvage. There’s no electricity or water in their homes, and furniture and TVs have been turned upside down — “a total loss,” as one friend put it. “At least no one died” in Crystal City, she said.
The Crystal Ballroom, where I spent many evenings of my teen years dancing at weddings and quinceañeras — including my own — was inundated with water, almost to the roof.
But by the time I drove by on Monday, the water was gone. Pickup trucks were outside, ready to haul away debris.
That’s been a common sight these past few days. People in this town of about 8,000 have been showing up and putting in their granito de arena wherever it is needed — cooking food, donating supplies, or putting on gloves to clear out debris.
People in my hometown are protective of how they are portrayed. We’ve been burned before. We hope when you tell our story, it’s with dignity and compassion, I was told.
As reporters, we must cover the facts and the truth. But it’s the faces of the people I speak to that stick with me the most. Rural communities like mine are sometimes forgotten, but the people here remind me that they are bigger than any narrative that has been built around them. They are resilient, they have a voice, and they will survive this. If you’ve never heard of Crystal City, it has a very rich history. Google it.
I’m proud to be from this small but strong community.
I call Dallas home, but I will always be Crystal City. It’s like what Sandra Cisneros wrote in her novel The House on Mango Street: “You will always be Mango Street. You can't erase what you know. You can't forget who you are.”
Priscilla Rice is KERA’s communities reporter. Got a tip? Email her at price@kera.org.
