Rosendo Evaro saunters to the flagpole in front of his house with a U.S. flag folded in his hands. It is just seconds before 9 a.m. in Redford, Texas, a town of about 100 people located a quarter mile north of the U.S. Mexico border about 16 miles from Presidio, Texas.

He unfolds the flag, attaches it to the long dangling rope and begins pulling the rope to raise the flag up the pole. His shiny blue 1947 Chevrolet truck sits underneath a red overhang a few feet away. He moves slowly, but the flag rises quickly. At 73-years-old, experience has replaced spryness as a method of efficiency.

Every morning for the past 20 years, Evaro has raised the flag at this same time. When it’s up, town people know that the Redford Post Office is open. After lunch at 1, he’ll slowly mosey back out to the pole and lower the flag. That means the post office is closed.

Rosendo Evaro, postmaster for Redford, Texas. Click the image to hear Evaro talk about his many careers and to watch him raise his U.S. flag.

With the flag furrowing in the light breeze and the antique blue Chevrolet truck beneath the rustic, red overhang, it’s one of the more picturesque border sights we’ve seen on our journey that started in San Diego and will end next week in Brownsville. White letters that read Redford are painted off-center to the left on the overhang. It used to be centered when it read Redford Growers Shed – when the business closed, Evaro painted over the last two words.

It’s one of many businesses that has closed here over the years. Many shut their doors after 9/11 when the Department of Homeland Security put an end to the unofficial river crossing that many in El Mulato, Mexico used. They used to cross in tiny rafts called chalupas. They would walk up a dirt road from the river to the only street in town, Highway 90. They bought their food, clothes and supplies here. Many received mail from Evaro. From 1990-2001, he also had a small grocery store. Now, a red “closed” hangs in the glass door as a reminder of yesteryear.

Evaro spends most of his day largely undisturbed behind the counter except for the occasional resident who still gets his or her mail here. Things speed up every winter when hundreds of youngsters arrive to participate in the Voyageur Outward Bound School located here.

“That’s when I work,” said Evaro, an Army veteran and father of five children.

In 1860, Evaro’s grandfather homesteaded this land. He was born here and has lived his entire life here. It’s now home to he and his wife of 47 years, Elida Evaro. Pictures with captions hang from a bulletin board to the right of the counter in the post office. In one, a young Evaro wears an Army uniform. In another, a middle-aged Evaro stands upright in front of the school bus. In another, small children sit near a tractor.

They are the rear-view mirror images of Evaro’s life. Space remains on the board for more photos. Perhaps the next will be of him raising the flag.