One Saturday late last summer, Boca Chica Beach was cloudy and oppressively humid. An incoming thunderstorm stretched from Matamoros to Brownsville several miles away, which I could see over the flat Tamaulipan thornscrub, just past the duneline and SpaceX’s launch towers.
Thunder intermittently interrupted the sound of crashing waves, but the storm was otherwise not threatening those gathered here. This group, made up of local organizers and Rio Grande Valley residents, was intent on being at Boca Chica Beach—at Texas’ southernmost tip, across the ship channel from touristy South Padre Island—then and into the future.
