Water Song

I grew up in the Texas Panhandle. Our sole source of water for gardening, bathing and drinking came from our windmill. When the wind blew, and there was an abundance of water in the overflowing storage tank, things were good. It was when there was no wind and the drought had been upon us for several months that things became tense. As the livestock stood at the empty water trough, lowing their thirsty concern, we knew, down to our very bones that we had to conserve on water. We learned very quickly little tricks to make the water last longer. We shared "washin' up" water in the basin. We poured what was left in the flower garden.

The saddest part of these dry spells was watching the garden die and the lawn turn brown and brittle under our feet. Even when the storage tank was full, and the windmill shut down, we still had to be cautious. We could never COUNT on the wind. It was very unpredictable. So, there were only weekly baths, taken in about two inches of water. At the end of wash day, the chickens got their share of the rinse water, and any left over was piped through the hose to the garden. What was left of the soapy water, in the wash tub was used to scrub down the well house.

As we settled in at Milagro Acres, I found myself constantly amazed at the ready availability of water. There were two, count them, two large ponds. These fascinating bodies of water were spring fed, so even in the "dry" part of the Oregon weather pattern, there is still water in the ponds! Every morning I would get up and spend time just watching the closest pond. Some days there would be a couple of mallards playing in the water. A blue Heron would spend hours hunting the frogs that lived in the pond. On a bright, warm summer day, the little flying critters would skim the pond, catching a fast drink on the fly.

One evening, about sun down, Jim came into the house and announced..."you gotta see this!" I went with him to the front of the house just in time to see hundreds of tiny wood ducks decend into the upper pond. (We rarely visited that pond because it is at the far end of the property, and is separated from us by wild black berry bushes.) However, as we stood transfixed, we could hear the faint but clear "tweep, tweep" of these migrating birds. It was an awesome, miraculous, gift... to be able to witness this beautiful event. It was even more of a miracle to hear the song of these ducks as they gathered at their watery refuge.

A few days later, I hatched a plan for the lower pond.