Butterflies, Floods, and the Quiet Labor of Growth

By Sandy Pollock, MOSTHistory Communications Officer

When Manuel Sabino steps into the Will Looney Legacy Park after a summer rain, he doesn’t see puddles or overgrowth. He sees promise. 

“Estoy motivando a las plantas a crecer,” he says. I’m working to motivate the plants to grow. 

The rains bring life, but they also bring challenges: mosquitoes, floods, tangled vines. Still, Manuel moves through the garden with quiet care. He trims the damage, clears the debris, and waits for signs of new growth. 

The butterflies bring him the most joy. Especially the monarchs, bright and delicate, fluttering among the native plants he’s worked so hard to keep alive. 

For generations, monarchs have passed through the Rio Grande Valley on their long migration. The Rio Grande Valley is one of the few places where people can witness that incredible journey up close. Native milkweed and nectar plants make the Valley an essential stop along the way. That story is written in our soil as much as it is told in our homes. 

In Manuel’s hands, the garden becomes more than a peaceful place to walk or sit. It becomes something living. Something cared for. A quiet love story between land and memory. 

At the Museum of South Texas History, we often focus on the past—archives, artifacts, and family legacies. But the Will Looney Legacy Park reminds us that history is still happening. It grows all around us in the trees, the blossoms, the slow return of butterflies. 

Manuel understands this. Many of the plants he tends have deep roots in this region. They’ve survived heat, floods, and time. Their beauty is not just visual. It’s cultural. It’s ancestral. They belong here. 

By caring for them, Manuel helps preserve a piece of South Texas that cannot be boxed or labeled. And he does it with humility. No spotlight. No big announcements. Just steady work: sweeping, watering, observing, encouraging life to continue. 

He may not call it stewardship or art. But it is both. It’s also hope. 

Hope that even after the floods, the garden will bloom. That the butterflies will find their way back. And that in this quiet corner of Edinburg, history isn’t just something we remember. It’s something we grow.