“The rain is falling all around. It falls on field and tree. It rains on the umbrella here and on the ships at sea.”
Robert Louis Stevenson, “A Child’s Garden of Verses”
After a season of prolonged drought, rain came to the Prairie in the form of storms. Fortunately for our area, though the storms were turbulent, there was no damage other than a few hunting houses toppled over.
A few years ago, we had beaver trouble down at the lake. Beavers built their dam across the spillway, and we’d come behind them breaking it up and letting the water flow out the spillway, down through the woods and into the creeks. After a while we realized perhaps we should leave the beaver-built dam and keep the water, so that when the dry season came the lake would not drain down. So Sam and I put the dam debris and mud back into the spillway, raising the water to a higher level. We imagined the beavers returning and commenting on what sorry dam-builders we were.
In any case, the beavers did not return, and our dam held when the recent rains came. The water began to rise from the precarious lows we’ve had since way back in the summer.
For the first time in months there was water below the dock that had stood dry. The platform Sam built for the Pekin ducks to find safe harbor now floated a sufficient ways from the bank. The mudflats that had stretched 10 or so feet from shore to water’s edge was shorter by about half.
Flocks of wild ducks and white egrets landed on the water; deer could drink without miring up in the mud. There were tinges of green across the fields just from one or two nights of rain. The whole earth seemed appreciative, as we were.
As much as we love wildlife, sometimes we can get a bit overrun with a critter that can cause some damage. Armadillos are one of those critters. Though we don’t have a manicured lawn by any means, as Sam was watering the house’s foundation to help prevent the foundation from further shifting, the armadillos moved in closer to our dwelling to dig in kinder soil.
One night while out feeding the rabbits, I heard the unmistakable rustling of leaves by a foraging armadillo. I followed the sound to the bridge down by the small pond just off the back porch of the house. I reported my suspicions to Sam, who brought out the .22.
The armadillo was hiding under the bridge even as we stood quietly on top. From the side, I eased over and grabbed a bodock ball (the fruit of a bois d’arc tree). I whispered to Sam I’d roll the bodock ball under the bridge to scare the armadillo out, but Sam didn’t hear me. So when the ball rolled out, Sam turned to me and said, “I ’bout shot a bodock ball.”
The morning after the winds and the rains, grey and fox squirrels were running all over the ground grabbing scattered acorns. I commented to Sam, “They’re running around like nuts.” And that they were.
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