I woke before dawn, tiptoed to my RV’s door and peered out. The coastal breeze whispered in. I grabbed binoculars and walked toward the bay’s edge. As the sun rose, graceful birds emerged — egrets, herons, roseate spoonbills, ibises, even a solitary reddish egret dancing in the shallows.
I sat quietly on a driftwood log, listening to their calls, watching them fish. The world seemed still, luminous, perched between sleep and awakening.
Returning to The Palms, I brewed coffee and made birdwatcher’s granola — oats, almonds, dried cranberries, honey, a dash of cinnamon. I joined fellow campers who were chatting about where the best birding spots were — we formed a small group to visit nearby wetlands later.
Later that afternoon, we drove toward Padre Island National Seashore, walking along dunes and watching sea turtles (or their tracks), ghost crabs scuttle underfoot, dunes drifting in wind. Dinner that night was fresh grilled mahi-mahi with citrus glaze, and we sat outside gas-heated hot tub under stars.