By : June Naylor
Photo By: Kevin Vandivier Long before I actually laid eyes on the Habitat, an eight-acre nature retreat wedged between Goose Island State Park and the Aransas National Wildlife Refuge just north of Rockport, I was fascinated by its promise of peaceful seclusion. Everything I’d heard about its simplicity and quiet setting told me I’d find a seaside spot to be treasured. But despite the enticing image of a log cabin just a short walk from a quiet bay, this visit eluded me for years.
Even though I’ve wandered from the crab shacks around Port Arthur all the way to the empty beach called Boca Chica at the southern tip of the state, there remain pockets on the long Texas shoreline that I’ve yet to explore. Such was the case with Lamar, the community that claims the Habitat, just a few minutes away from Port Aransas. I decided to carve a few days from my schedule to wander along a 210-mile reach from Port Aransas, near Corpus Christi, to the Bolivar Peninsula.
Soon after arriving at the Habitat, it occurs to me that I can’t remember the last time I heard … nothing.
“People love to come out here and see trees and stars and simply find out what quiet is again,” says Wayne Nugent, who, with his wife Robin, built this little haven 10 years ago. “Sometimes all you hear are the owls calling to each other at night.”
The Habitat offers prime birding, and the four cabins typically are booked from November through March, the magical season when endangered whooping cranes live nearby. And fall is the time to see hummingbirds.
Wayne, who teaches junior high science in Rockport, urges me to walk down the road that runs in front of the Habitat toward St. Charles Bay before nightfall, just to get an appreciation for the hush along the water.
“We don’t have televisions or phones in the cabins because we encourage people to get out and muck around, discover all the trails,” he says. “It also gives guests a chance to spend more time with each other.”
On my dusk walk down to the bay, the silence is interrupted only by a mealtime ruckus going up from flocks of ducks and egrets hiding in some marshy reeds; it feels as though those birds and I are alone in the world.
See the full article in the May 2008 issue. Subscribe Order back issues |
