The year is 1958, the place is the southside of San Antonio. Midway between the ancient Mission San Jose and the abandoned Terrell Wells (a natural hot springs spa whose sulfuric rotten-egg scent wafted for miles) lay tiny working class tract houses, one of which was my childhood home. On lazy summer afternoons, the boys of the neighborhood would play baseball in the street or explore the woods adjacent to our subdivision...Approaching dusk might bring out blinking lightning bugs, or if you were really sharp-eyed you might spot a horny toad on a tree branch or fence post. It wasn't actually a toad (the real name was horned lizard), but the crowning achievement of a summer day was to capture one of these creatures and drop it in your pocket.
I haven't seen a horny toad in 50 years. I suppose they're still around - some say they fell victim to the fire ant invasion from South America. Progress has its place, I suppose, but I'm glad not to have lived my childhood in the sadly depleted world I see around me now.
Take a look at:
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