I was in Fredericksburg this weekend for their 4th of July festivities. A parade and fireworks and a wide-open weekend beckoned us, and we jumped on the chance to get away.

We just got rain.

We drove through rain the entire trip down, a quick 3 hours southeast of Abilene. The level of the Llano River caught our attention when we drove over, the choppy aggressive rush of the water making us question if the weather would affect our fireworks scheduled that night.

We just got rain.

We joined the crush of tourists, undeterred, as with us, in walking Main Street, up and down, like a cruise street on a summer Friday night. Despite the rain and being soaked to the skin, we popped in and out of the shops, pointing out the funny sayings and the doo-dahs that so-and-so might like and smelling candles and finding the perfect t-shirt.

We just got rain.

When it becomes obvious that the fireworks weren’t going to happen that night, the town officials dragged coolers full of Lone Star Beer to each shop who, then, in turn, offered it up to us tourists for free.

We just got rain.

Two unopened cans of beer in back pockets, one opened in each hand, we raise our cans as we pass others, nod to the look-out who tells us that the store on the corner is out, giving a whoop when we hear a new can crack open. No fireworks, no problem. We’ve got each other’s back. We will find a way to celebrate.

We just got rain.

We stumble back to the hotel, exhausted from cruising and laughing and counting cans of free beer, thoroughly soaked and no chance of saving the morning’s hairstyle. Showers and fall into bed. We comment how much it’s rained and how we hope Abilene has gotten some. Eyes closed, content and happy.

We just got rain.

30 miles southwest, in a little town not known for much anything other than Christian-based summer camps and the original H-E-B grocery store, the Guadalupe River can only receive so much rain in a short amount of time. Cresting the river banks turns, quickly, to aggressive flooding, taking down trees and homes and whole summer camps in one fell swoop. 

We just got rain.

The countenance is different on Main Street, the next day, as the drowned body count rises and the water recedes.  Kerrville is close. Too close. We still pop in and out of the stores, we still fill back pockets with free cans of beer to drink later, we still eat German soft pretzels and still question if the perfect t-shirt to take back to the waiting recipient has been purchased, but it’s different, today. Hushed conversations, tears, heads down: “missing” and “those girls” and “my sister’s neighbor” and “so fast” and “deceased” and “found” and “no chance”…  we stumble through our free beer. 

We just got rain.