The Rio Grande Valley today is a land of palm trees and trailer courts, sugar cane and citrus groves. But that’s not at all what the area looked like before the twentieth century.

In his book Adios to the Brushlands biology teacher and newspaper reporter Arturo Longoria laments the continuing destruction of this small and unique ecological region. Longoria learned to love the area as a boy, growing up on ranches on both sides of the river. Walking by the side of his Papagrande, he learned to identify the plants and studied the ways of the birds and animals.

The late afternoon walk was what both of us looked forward to. Thin trails weaving between the arthritic limbs of ancient mesquites, circling clumps of red-flowered prickly pear cactus, then edging motts of emerald-leafed coma and grey-leafed purple sage; the diaphanous fragrance of yellow huisache flowers whiffing through the air; the sky etched with chalky clouds; Papagrande leading, I ambling behind. Silence. Each step placed carefully, avoiding brittle sticks, sidestepping thorns and spines, eyes intent on the ground but always aware of the skyline. Papagrande gesturing at the tracks of a deer or a javelina, then examining the diminutive nest of a blue-grey gnatcatcher. ”Cuidado con las viboras,” he would whisper, as he indicated a clump of dry grass.

Early accounts describe the original landscape as “intensely thick brush.” This began disappearing with the arrival of the farmers who denuded the forest and built canals to channel water inland from the river. Longoria reports the history of public policy and private greed that continue to conspire to destroy the land to this day.

To get a firsthand experience of the original landscape we visited Santa Ana National Wildlife Refuge. A ranch since the days that it was part of Mexico, this land had been kept close to its natural state. There are hiking trails and a seven-mile tram tour. We took both. Mostly it resembled a jungle, almost tropical. As we loaded up for the tram tour, our guide told us that an ocelot had been spotted the day before, so we were on the lookout. Jaguars had once roamed these lands too. But we didn’t see any cats. We did see some unusual birds though - chachalaca and green jays.

I thought of Longoria as our tram rounded a curve in the trail and suddenly came out of the woods onto an embankment that ran along the fenceline of the preserve. There on the other side of the fence was cleared and plowed land, bare dirt for miles with an orange grove in the distance. No habitat for a jaguar. We rode along the embankment for a short distance while the contrast sank in, and then plunged back into the jungle for the final leg of the trail.

That image flashed through my mind again this morning at my breakfast table as I sliced into one of the delicious ruby red grapefruits that we had filled the trunk of our car with as we left.