Our little home away from home, “12 Palms”, can’t treat us any better! It’s 8 o’clock in the morning, the thermometer teeters around 80 degrees. The staccato cackle of one feathered friend finds the drawn-out whirring of another. Oak, banana, lime, and palms all gather, sloping toward a dock and miles of a Laguna Madre vein. She is liquid jade before me, a friend to high-hopping fish. The opposite shore is a lush, dense green against the painted sunrise. I’m in the midst of the tropics, forest, farmland, beach, and river-all rolled into one stop at the tip of Texas. Mansions are scattered amidst fields of sunflowers, trailer parks, sugar cane and shacks. It’s a one road town with fishing as its common denominator.