An intrepid reporter would have let nothing stand in her way in her quest for a story to give you about Cypress, Texas when she visited. Driving in rush hour traffic to find a location would not have shaken her steely resolve. In cold and rainy weather, she still would have taken her trusty camera to find photographs of interest. She would have sneered at the thought of the on-line geek in a nearby hotel room who was waiting for her to log on to the internet (so he could steal her identity).
That would be the “intrepid reporter.” Would that be me? No way. I had the audacity to flop on that big comfy bed at the Hampton Inn each day when I came “home” from work. Hey, I didn’t have to share my half of the bed with five cats! I could sleep! I didn’t go dancing around the area much, but I needed the rest.
Besides, there isn’t a lot to see in Cypress. To paraphrase Gertrude Stein, the trouble with Cypress is that when you get there, there isn’t any there there. Did you really want me to show you a shopping mall? Cypress sprawls all over the map down in Harris County. It has its own United States Post Office, but for all intents and purposes it is just a suburb of Houston. I was there telling stories in the Cypress Fairbanks School District, which I am told is the third largest in the state of Texas. It is one of my favorite places to work — if it weren’t so darned far from home.
German settlers came to the area where Cypress, Texas is now located back in the 1840s. They were not the first to enjoy the area, however, as the Atakapan tribes of Native Americans were already living in the area. Neither group would recognize the place now! Highways, shopping malls, and lots of schools. That’s about it.
I asked a librarian, “Don’t y’all have a historic area?” She got that “deer in the headlights” look on her face. “Well, there’s Cypress Station,” she said. It turns out that there is a little park where some historic buildings from the Juergens family are preserved by the Cypress Historical Society. She gave me directions, and I waltzed right over to take pictures. I was antsy to find something worth photographing.
Although it didn’t seem like much of a park, and was closed when I visited, I was thrilled to see the old Humble Station preserved.
Humble station at Cypress
I stepped over to snap some pictures of the Juergen’s Home, and decided to get all “artsy fartsy” by taking pictures through the leaves.
Old Juergen home in Cypress
“Artsy fartsy” is where I run into trouble, y’all. I tried to take pictures from several different angles … and I stood still for several minutes. I know better than to do that. All of a sudden I realized that my left knee was stinging. Like some dumb tourist I had planted my foot in a bed of fire ants! My leg was crawling with them … and they were inside my blue jeans! Oh, y’all those critters are vicious!
I tell you what! Driver’s on Hempstead Highway got quite a sight that afternoon as I did the St. Vitus’ Dance in the parking lot. I squealed and jumped and jerked. I bent down to swat at them, and my hair got in the way, so I pushed it back. Next thing you know, my neck was stinging! Then, my hands! Those dadgum fire ants nearly ate me alive.
Oh, the things I do for you!
If you want to know more about Cypress Station, visit their website. I did take other pictures, but I wasn’t so antsy to photograph the place after that debacle.
Later in the week, I was told that back in the 1830s a band of travelers buried their wealth near Cypress Creek when they were faced with an attack by Indians. Supposedly it is still there, but I didn’t go treasure hunting. I imagine that any gold hidden near there is vigilantly guarded by more of those fire ants. I don’t want any more encounters with them. I’m still shaking ants out of those pants!
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