A Stroll Around the Neighborhood

Sitting here, on a bench in Kempner Park, Michael suggests we take a leisurely stroll around the neighborhood and see the way Galveston lives — up close and personal. Choosing to begin our walk on Avenue N, we are a bare five feet into our small adventure when he also suggests I watch where I step and not trip on the cracked — almost shattered in some places — sidewalk. Michael remembers all too well my skirmish with a similar cement path years ago when I came up the loser and totally ruined our first day of vacation. When I was four years old, I tripped on a crack, not breaking my mother’s back, but breaking my small arm. My dear husband realizes I am a klutz.

Avenue N

Following our noses, heading west, I tread carefully down Avenue N, where we cause every dog in the neighborhood to start barking. All at once. They are certainly not happy we are here. But the day is beautiful and I ignore their fussing. Instead, when I am not looking down I am looking at the homes that line our way.

Galveston is not only a city in transition with many faces, so is this street. On our right are homes renewed, pristine, manicured—gleaming with pride. On our left, it is the yin of the yang; some houses are torn and tattered, the yards unkempt. But both sides seemingly accept the other, and all are at peace.

Eventually, we come to 33rd street, and I see a sign for a farmer’s market — Seeding Galveston — open every Wednesday morning. I am tempted to walk across the street and investigate even though it is not a Wednesday, but Michael turns left. Before following him, I stop and snap a picture of the street sign to remember where it is.

The Oldest House in Galveston

Halfway between Avenue N and Avenue O — on 33rd, Michael crosses to the other side of the street. A stately white-columned mansion with historical markers promises to tell us who and why.

We stand gazing at the home of Michel Branaman Menard; I feel like he is an old friend. We have been to the town of Menard that bears his name, and Menard signed the Texas Declaration of Independence. Michael’s ancestor, Matthew Caldwell, must have known him — his signature is on that same document.

Now I am curious about Michel Branaman (actually born Branamour) Menard, an illiterate youth born near Montreal, Quebec. He must have learned to read at some point in his life. I can’t help but wonder at his story.

The oldest house on Galveston Island, construction began in 1838 in the state of Maine, then was shipped in pieces to to be reassembled/assembled here. The Michel Branaman Menard House is currently operated by the Galveston Historical Association as a museum and as an event venue.

Avenue O

Turning left on Avenue O, we can’t help but notice the homes on this street must have belonged to the crème de la crème in Galveston’s heyday. They are beautiful and grand. Two giant canines run to a low brick wall acting like they are in the act of jumping to attack, when suddenly they stop! They don’t even bark; they just look.

Our walk, almost at an end, finds us in front of the mansion that is a neighbor to Garten Verein; it takes up the portion of the block that the Garten Verein does not. Michael is impressed with the ornate wrought iron fence posts. I want to know who lives there now, but I settle for a bit of its history.