Big water; a visit to the Transpecos

The atmosphere around here was dry as a bone, a real old bone. Then suddenly it began to rain. That was three days ago and the rain has not stopped. It has fallen like we wish it to, softly, steadily. By now, we have probably had about five or six inches and that ought to get us through summer. It has soaked in and only now has the creek risen. However, I can still get through the creek as proven this afternoon.
At noon, I started cooking lunch. The kitchen windows face northwest and the house is almost two stories at the back. I heard an unusual sound, popping-like. I looked up to see the branches of the big pecan tree pass the window. Eerily, it seemed to be going for a walk. Walk nothing; it was falling down, carried by the weight of its wet branches and its tilt. Worst of all, it was taking all the electrical lines with it. I couldn't do anything but brace for whatever was to come. That whatever was silence. I ran to the phone to call the beloved electrical company. I couldn't see my address book without light so I switched on the lamp. I dialed the number and then realized the lights were still on, electricity was still working, the radio was still on. How could a whole tree go down on lines and there still be electricity? I saw the lines on the ground. The electric company was ready to take the emergency and said the troubleshooter would be on his way.
I tore through the creek, water up to the fenders, to get Sissy to wait at the gate for the troubleshooter. She needed to let him know he could get through the creek and watch to see that he was safely through. It didn't matter to me if he had to stay for days on this side, I just knew that electricity had to be turned off. On my way back, I met the cows coming up to the house. All I needed at that point, a herd of cattle trying to eat downed pecan leaves around live electrical lines on the ground! I shut out the cows and waited on the porch with the dogs. They certainly knew something was wrong, being good at sensing major tension. Waiting of course took forever. A roar told us a big truck was coming and the troubleshooter and helper arrived. I have never been so glad to see someone I didn't know!
I expected them to cut the electricity off and leave things for a drier day's work. Instead, they went to work cutting off power and sawing limbs to reconnect. I thought it was crazy but they showed me that the tree had only taken the meter loop pole down. They cut the lines to get them from under the tree, then they heaved, pulled, and reconnected the lines back to the house. There seems to have been no other damage except a fuse to the water heater that blew when it grounded out. The men were unflappable, which helped me immensely. Their only concern was the heifer that dashed around them mooing for her calf. (Funny that horns on a cow make people think they are mean.) They were very good to explain what they had to do, did it, got drenched, and were on their way in a couple of hours. Manuel and I will be cutting up a lot of pecan firewood. Our carpenter neighbor will have a beautiful log for his wood mill. The house will get a lot of summer sun in the afternoon. The summer tanager will miss that tree, as will I. Its branches will no longer frame the window. We sure are lucky.
Next morning: not so lucky. Hard rain started about 7 a.m., and continued until 11. Electricity went off at 6:47 a.m., came back on at 12:55 p.m. We got over five inches too fast, along with the sensation it would never stop. Water came in the porch and began to stand against the house. The water really did not have anywhere else to go. I swept so fast it felt like paddling. When the rain finally slowed the water drained away pretty well. After noon a light drizzle persisted. Our neighbor Wally of Primarily Primates called to say a number of big trees were down and some had taken out his water gap on the road. That means our water gap at the south end of the Ranch is out. I just drove down to the creek, not fordable, and that water gap is in the air. The cattle will have to ride out the end of this in the corrals. If left to themselves, they begin checking the gaps. What will I do with dear Sug-rawa, whom I have got in one corral? She spent last Thursday on the fenceline with a stallion and came home with a nice cut. She was almost swimming this morning because the back road shot a load of water through the corrals. They were swept out clean and everything ran into my vegetable garden. I will not have to fertilize or water for the rest of the summer. Now maybe there will be tomatoes. Our summer water needs are met; it can stop for awhile.

Bebe Fenstermaker

A trip to the Transpecos in mid-June was one of the best in a long line of visits since moving from there to Bexar County a good many years ago. Martha and I drove out US 90, noting the ever decreasing Amistad Reservoir (even lower than it was three years ago). We arrived in Ft. Davis in time for supper at a cousin's where we were staying. It was obvious they had had rain in some of the areas. The flats leading to and up the mountainsides were tinged with green. We were on the go the entire time: attending Rosie's 20th birthday (our cousin's mare); visiting an Irish castle up in the mountains on a cold, windy, and misty day. The fog was so thick the castle simply burst forth from it. When we stepped out onto the turrets it was like being in a gale and slashed with mist. Our next excursion was to the Marfa "city-wide garage sale." I bought a wooden trunk for five dollars! A sad commentary on West Texas is the air pollution, no longer just confined to the Big Bend area. It does not take an expert to notice that the sky is no longer that wonderful bright blue. A milky haze rubs out the views that once went on forever. No longer are the layers of mountains in the distance sharply defined; in fact, at times some of the more distant ones are no longer visible. And no longer does the pollution just come from Monterrey. No, now it also comes from Houston, San Antonio, and Corpus Christi. Our trip home began in a dust storm which we finally drove out of somewhere around Sanderson. It was so thick the near mountains were not visible. Our first evening back home I realized how quiet it had been out there. The cicadas at Frommes were deafening.
The first week of July we had at least 40 inches of rain right here in this valley which usually sees summer rains split and go to the east and west of it. Folks, I mean 40 inches in six days. We had a 45-minute shower the last Friday in June; scattered showers Saturday; and then that night the rains began. It rained from Saturday night through Tuesday afternoon, stopped for an hour, and picked up again and rained until mid-morning Wednesday. The rain started up that night and continued off and on through Thursday. Of course the watergaps were washed out and we sweated the cattle getting out at one of those points. Martha and I splashed alongside the dogs to check the southernmost gap. Water was running down the side of the hill to the creek. Water stood everywhere. That morning when I opened the peacock coop to let the cock out, Genevieve slipped in to check for leftover scratch. It was there all right, under four inches of water. That didn't stop her. She just stuck her nose under and gobbled the grain, coming up for air every once in a while. The dogs have been damp or worse for days. Every time I open or close the chicken coop I get soused by the runoff from the roof. All the doors stick and the windows are stuck up or down. In the pauses between showers now the gnats and no-seeums attack. I would say our drought is at an end. I would like to see the rest of the state get some. Not to mention Arizona, New Mexico, and Colorado.

Sissy Fenstermaker