Driving along the border fence at dusk, in Del Rio, Texas, I see a deer grazing along the shore of the Rio Grande. I stop, he looks up at me before disappearing into the thick brush. All evening I wonder whether he slept in Mexico or the US that night. Strangely, I wonder if that matters to him. Which side is home?
There is a dividing line that cuts through cities, towns, forests and vast desert. Some have characterized the line as a division of cultural difference. It exists, in a way, to protect national pride. Others have argued that the line is arbitrary and shouldn’t even exist. Sometimes it is marked by an iron fence. Other times, only an empty desert and green tinted river separate two neighboring countries.
The populous areas are militarized, and the remote sections remain as they have for thousands of years…unchanged except by time and geology. Looking across the river, from Langtry, Texas, I can see for dozens of miles into the heart of Mexico. In a way I want it to look different, so I can confirm in my mind what we are often told: that there is a difference.