Watch parts one and two of Lori Jane Gliha's report.

LAJITAS, Texas – On a blistering 101-degree May day, Brisa Garcia’s two daughters bounced in anticipation along the banks of the Rio Grande River in far West Texas.

It was the first time in a year that the two girls would see their grandmother and aunt, and they were dressed for the occasion. Both donned long matching French braids, one topped by a khaki Gucci baseball hat and the other by a straw hat with a big fuchsia bow.

Catching sight of their relatives on the other side of the river, they exploded into wide smiles and waded in, yelling and waving while trying to hold onto the bouquets of red roses they had for the women.

Eventually, dozens of other Texans and Mexicans followed suit, albeit with a little more hesitation, given that U.S. Border Patrol agents lingered above on a hill. By the end of the day, relatives and friends packed that corner of the river dancing, singing and grilling on both sides. It was – at least for a few hours – a return to a time before their lives became so complicated.

Technically, the "fiesta protesta," or protest party, they were a part of on May 11 took place between two countries: Lajitas in Texas and Paso Lajitas in Mexico. These two towns were once close-knit communities, but since 9/11, when several informal border crossings were effectively closed, the Paso Lajitas side had become a ghost town.

Crossing between the towns used to mean a couple of minutes wading across the river. Residents now face a four-hour trek through the nearest official crossing. People on both sides say the heightened border control has kept mothers from daughters and businesses from customers – a loss that's costing them their community. So now they are pushing back: asking for less – not more – border control.