Mission San Petin
Where the water was asked to be
Petin sits in a hidden Hill Country valley. The only road in is the cave behind the waterfall at the headwaters of the Guadalupe: light green water, bald cypress, and sheer white limestone. The mission was founded on that spring.
Friars and townsfolk dug the acequias out from the springhouse Rosa still keeps. La Canoa, a hollowed half-log on forked mesquite posts, carries ditch water across a dry arroyo. The Acueducto 1745 is stone, and it works by gravity. El Pozo is the town well, a windlass and a bucket. The windmill came later: four posts, the wheel and the tail on one axis, a pump rod down into a stock tank.
In 1836 the valley told a republic story of its own. Cap Mesquite captained the rangers. The mission is where that telling puts the last stand. It is a story for the porch. The pipes in the work yard still have to pass a real code pack, and a licensed plumber still signs the job.
El Santo de Petin is the patron of the mission, a folk figure who appears where the water fails. The saint is met with respect. The jokes stay with the plumbers. One line is enough: the water is where it was asked to be.
The guides
Cap Mesquite
Retired captain of the Republic of Petin Rangers. He carved the welcome sign and talks while the ditch waits.
- Hurry is for folks with no shade.
- Slope the drain, son. Water never forgets downhill.
- Good water, cold buttermilk, and a long nap. That's the whole sermon.
Capt. Bramble
Keeper of the acequias. Mud on the boots, a level in one hand and a ledger in the other.
- Talk later. Ditch first.
- Close the gate behind you. Every time.
- A promise is a pipe. It holds, or it don't.
Rosa Petina
Keeper of the springhouse. Stone jugs in wet burlap, and a word she has already kept.
- Keep your water cold and your word warm.
- Don't promise. Show up.
- I've been through worse heat than this.