Joann Merritt's Essays

After The Rain
April, 2000

On April lst, the country soul within me dictated that I go out into the countryside after the previous night’s rainfall to smell the fresh earth, view the sights, hear the sounds and to imagine nature’s wonders that would be forthcoming in the weeks ahead.

Accordingly we drove south on FM 1788 to the Chandler farm where Brian was on the tractor pulling a disk harrow across the field. His constant escorts were a pair of Cliff Swallows who circled the tractor as they followed him down the rows. I don’t know whether Brian’s purpose in disking was to loosen the soil, kill weeds or just to see and smell damp earth again, but for whatever reason it provided a joyous moment for the farmer, the swallows and the observers.

Water shimmering across the length and breadth of historic Salt Lake on South County Road 1160 brought visions of the 7000 Sandhill Cranes that roosted there a few years ago. Dare we hope for a fall re-run of the awesome panorama of cranes bugling as they fly in to the lake at sunset? That scenario is nature at its best, it’s no wonder that the BWS enjoyed them so much.

Continuing south and then east on State Road 1379 we counted 5 water-filled playas. While stopped at Johnson’s Draw to marvel at the sight and sound of water rushing across the road we visited with an oilfield worker who had been on the back ranch roads and saw water flowing like a river for a mile and a half. He, too, marveled at the unusually large volume and mighty power of this Midland County water. The road was passable so we continued our journey.

Heavy rains in the area left water standing at Harris’ again and had even temporarily closed the county road just east of his entrance. David recalled his Dad speaking of water in the draw as high as a horse’s head. Now he will have his own “high water, fences washed out” story to tell his children. The deepest water was at a point where Pemberton Draw merges with water coming from the west. A week later Don & I walked the pasture where debris in the mesquite trees gave evidence of the amount and force of the water. One sad note is that the nestling Great Horned Owls that were in the orchard were swept away by the rushing water.

At the Spraberry Farms a Northern Harrier flushed an estimated 150 Meadowlarks. While they weren’t exactly singing in the rain, they did give their lispy, kissy call notes from a nearby fence which identified them as Eastern Meadowlarks.

North of Boone Ranch waves of Lark Buntings flew from a field , crossing the road into a pasture. They were gathering on the leeward side of shrubby mesquite trees to get some measure of protection from the cold northeast wind which was accompanied by light rain. Scanning the pasture with binoculars I could see 25 or so separate groups of buntings, some groups with as many as 100 birds all huddled together. They were fairly easy to see since the vegetation was sparse to nil as a result of the drought. They would occasionally bestir themselves and move about while softly singing and then settle down again. Surely this large flock of Lark Buntings were migrants, I doubt there had been enough food in the area to sustain this many birds for the winter. A nearby playa full of water afforded them a place to drink, bathe and probably find some insects to eat.

The five o’clock temperature of 45 degrees quickly made the birds as well as the observers decide to seek shelter and call it a day. In the midst of all these wondrous happenings of nature a bit of whimsy came to mind - Donna Kelly’s Flark of Buntings!