Block · one region of the page, as the scanner read it. It may hold a whole story, part of one, several, or an advertisement; stitching blocks into articles is the next step. Text is supplied OCR.
Page 3 · column 2 of 7 · from the scan, no model involved
ner. I will never think it beautiful, but I have grown to respect the grass, and everything else that lives here, for its ability to withstand tremendous temperature and wetness extremes.
The land is crisscrossed with deep ditches, loosely referred to as “bayous.” In fact, a good many Louisianan Cajuns would probably laugh at what Houstonians call a bayou. These ditches become completely parched in dry spells, and fill to flooding levels after a couple of heavy rains. They make cross-country stroller travel maddeningly impossible. On a warm wet spring night, the bayous literally seethe with life: hundreds of crayfish, (called crawdads here), seek their small suppers.
The water is abominable. In Houston, it’s actually undrinkable and trucks with names like Ozarka and Crystal Springs cany water in large bottles to businesses and homes. James brought a thermos of water from our spring. They day we drank our last cup of it, we felt completely severed from home.
On our first morning in Pearland, Britton and Sam find a tiny licoriceblack toad in front of our apartment. We learn that it is a Houston Toad, a rare species. Thus we begin a quest for facts about our new home:
91.6%