Last Sunday afternoon was a most special time in which to drive to Quay Valley to enjoy the wonderful rain and to admire the greening of the pastures. Natives just automatically head into the countryside to do a lot of checking, more especially after such long periods of drought.
Of course, Aggie accompanied me in order to be miserable while trying to dodge the windshield wipers and was quite upset because I left her in the car when I stopped at the end of Plaza Larga Bridge. I just needed to do some walking without being led by her and wanted to take some pictures of the surrounding area. Whereas, we know that creek is not the Rio Colorado, we appreciate that rushing red water as if it were a river. Listening to it roar as it flowed by was most pleasant even though I couldn’t look at it too steadily without getting almost as dizzy as I had the Sunday before while watching the turning wind turbines.
Knowing some of that water was coming from the canyons of home made the sight even more beautiful and allowed me to recall the times during which we would sit on the porch at Grandmother’s house to admire the waterfalls in the canyons and hear an even louder roar as they echoed while the water rushed to Plaza Larga and on to the Canadian River. Yes, there are much taller and more famous ones. Not many children in these parts had the opportunity to sit in a swing on their front porch while watching those torrents pouring into the canyons. Of course, those were not frequent occurrences, but they were most appreciated when they happened.
Before we moved to Grandmother’s house, we usually waited until the rain stopped and then walked to the edge of the bluff near our little house in order to see the water rushing into Quay Valley. That canyon was far deeper than the one at Grandmother’s and the sounds were less distinct because of the distance to the bottom, but the scenery was just as beautiful. After really hard rains, we could even see some of the boulders sliding along as the red clay gave way beneath them. We could also see water glistening in the earth tanks in the valley and would know that our tanks on the plains were catching a goodly supply for the cattle and wild animals that might drop by for a drink.
After watching the creek in action under the bridge, I ambled back to the car to calm Aggie’s nerves for a few minutes and then to drive on to the Quay School yard so she could have a quiet walk in the rain and relax for a few minutes. Loping through the puddles there made her quite frisky, and she bounded from place to place to inspect her favorite walking place.
Seeing many water holes filled and overflowing was thrilling to those of us who are a part of this land. Without walking in that red mud, I could feel it from the past experiences and could know how it would stain any clothing it touched. I could hear it sucking at my heels as it did in the past and could recall the chore of cleaning it from my boots before entering the house. We learned to do that once we could walk because we didn’t want to hear any lectures about our tracking mud into the kitchen. If we forgot and did so, we then had the added chore of mopping that floor and wouldn’t even pretend to forget in the near future.
We certainly have much to be thankful for during this Holy Week. Have a most blessed Easter!