'm not going to let the weather stop me," I muttered to myself. "I'm going to Colorado City for the Railhead Traildays anyways, dagnab it." On Sunday before I left I checked the rain gauge - four-tenths had fallen the evening before. The morning fog was dense - I could hardly see a hundred yards, so I decided to drive the backroads to Colorado City - dense fog and big semi-trucks whizzing on I-20 did not seem a pleasant prospect.
I headed east on County Road 120 from the convenience store at five points. I turned on radio station 107.9 - the Sunday morning show is a mix of Hispanic music - from rancheras to orchestra tipica to rap. Here and there, the fog lifted, and flocks of meadowlarks and quail were flying to feeding grounds and leaving their nighttime roosts. A shrike dropped off an electric line and strafed a mesquite pasture. I turned north on CR 1040 and squished through the water-filled potholes on the gravel surface, and slowed to take a closer look at the 20-25 year old development at the junction with Farm-to-Market Road 307. East of Greenwood I found a patch of white spectacle pod - flowers are few and far between this year. Deborah and I were identifying 60 species this time last year - I would not find more than 15 species all day.
South of Stanton FM 307 turns into Glasscock County Road 490, and most of the distance was ranchland until the last decade. Horned larks skittered up out of the strip of tansy mustards along the road and land in the plowed land. I kept seeing hawks - Harriers, Red-Tailed, Cooper's and more Kestrels - which made me wonder if hawks migrate north with the "first litter of spring" - the first baby rabbits and rodents of the year. The fog turned into "big drop fog" - the sky was slowly dripping (you could not call it rain).
Glasscock 490 dead ends into Glasscock 415, and I turned north. In a wooded playa (with willows, saltcedars, soapberry, hackberry) two big greathorned owls glared at me as if I was at fault for the rain. Hordes of winter sparrows skittered away. I turned right on Howard County Road 8 into Lomax, where it joined FM 818. In Mustang Draw nervous gadwall ducks took off from the ponds of permanent water when I stopped to identify them. On the east slope of the draw I stopped again to look for Chimaya - a favorite edible plant that blooms in March. Nary a one was there - last year, the same spot had hundreds.
Right past champion team roper Britt Clark's place a flock of 30 turkey ambled across the road. They were not about to hurry, so I had to wait for them to finish traipsing into the cotton field to the south - and then they stood staring at me from between the rows of stalks left in the field all winter to slow wind erosion. ("It's not my fault it is wet outside!" I yelled at them.) A pretty farmstead with a pond in the front yard and cold frames in the garden told me I was getting close to Elbow - now just an elementary school and a church with a smattering of abandoned buildings and teacherages.
I turned left on FM 33 and then right on U.S. Highway 87 to the Forsan junction. The highway had dozens of cars zooming through the fog and steady drizzle. A TNMO bus left a wake of mist so thick I had to swerve on to the shoulder - I could not see. I turned onto FM 461, to see how the "painted road" was doing in the rain - the Forsan students paint school pride slogans on the road - and the paint was indeed fading. I turned left onto FM 821, and had to stop to look at an old overgrown street and an old evergreen about hidden in the mesquite and prickly pear thickets. The street and evergreen were about all that is left from Forsan's boom days long ago.
Curlews (gawky and with long down-turned bills) flew over as I entered the open range of the Cole Ranch as I neared the Chalk Oil Field. I dropped down into the Dobson Creak breaks and then turned on FM 2183 and up and over into the Bull Creek drainage - I love that "broken-up" country with steep little hills and bigger mesas blanketed with juniper, agarita and silver holy sage. As I went up and down 107.9 became an Abilene rock station (when I was on an east facing slope.) My cell phone lost reception in the draw bottoms, too. I stopped at the Hyman family cemetery and photographed the old church there, now crumbling into ruins. I took a break at the Hackberry Creek bridge and admired the big rocks on the west facing bluffs. A roadrunner paraded for me, telling me it was a good morning.
I pulled into Colorado City as the Railhead Trade Days was beginning in one of the old buildings along the railroad. About 40 vendors were in out of the weather (but the food vendors in their trailers outside were alone in the driving rain.) I admired some steel rockers with cutout metal art backs but decided the price was just a little high. Then I ran into Doris McClelland of the Ellwood Spade Ranch.
I had first learned of her 20 years ago - a ranch lady that loved wildflowers, and who gave talks about how folks ought to grow our beautiful native plants in our yards. Despite attempts by mutual friends to have us meet, it had never happened. Lots of West Texans have heard of her bravery - in 1995, while she was walking near the ranchhouse on Hackberry Creek, a rabid bobcat attacked her. She drew a pistol and shot it, knocking it off her, coolly switching the gun from one hand to the other while the cat bit and scratched her. She walked back to the ranchhouse, called 911 and then drove to the county road two miles away to open the gate for the sheriff.
She has written three books - two children's books (one about the rabid bobcat and the other about a badger.) The other is a collection of stories cowboys tell on each other (and it has a forward by Elmer Kelton).
I followed her over to the wonderful Heart of West Texas Museum. While she set up, I watched a 10-minute video on Lone Wolf, a Kiowa chief whose son is buried on Lone Wolf Mountain not far from Colorado City. She told me of her coral-bead plant she had rescued at the Sterling City firehouse when it was expanded. "It is also called fireman's hat!" Now I want the plant for my yard!
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