A Drought Story

Newt hiked along the caliche road wishing the rains would fall, for it already was getting on to be late in the month. This time one year ago the dams were merely overflowing and the cows were happy. Even the marsh at the south end of the property was ripe with tadpoles propelling themselves along directionless in the shallows. But now the cows were ill and had to be watered through a horse trough that had been improvised using cast iron from the barn at the west end of the property.  And there weren't any fish to catch or bullfrogs to spear down by the dam near the main cabin. It was just too dry. He thought about the flood some ten years back and pulling out automobiles by the water crossing using the diesel green tractor’s wench. The crops had prospered for several years after that, as a result of the water table being heavily saturated by that June flood. But these were different times. As Newt walked along, the dust picked up and caked his hands, intensifying his desire for the rains to grace the lands again. He turned toward home once he reached the fence line so that he would be in time to catch the falling of the sun. He knew that the summer ahead might be one of the driest in the history of Caldwell County. His Grandfather had experienced the pains of drought half a century earlier and had essentially quit the cotton game. The back forty had been the first to go when his Grandfather worked the land and the plots behind it went shortly after. But Newt’s attempts at cropping and farming had proved successful since he had permanently relocated there fifteen years earlier. He had brought a youthful zeal to the enterprise of farming, inspiring the ranch hands to move forward with him in his pursuit of raising olive trees. There had even been an attempt at farming Christmas trees, which had resulted in a windfall for the better part of his first three years. As the sun set behind Gambrell Hill, Newt turned for the back porch of the stone house, being reminded of the drought as he felt the crusted dirt between his toes. All he could think of was the drought. It pained him to no end, but he knew that he had to keep going forward with his efforts. If only the rains would fall again. He was afraid of the heat lightning that could crack a whip of flame at any moment during a scorching summer night. He remembered when he was younger how the heat lightning had kept him awake in a hot sweat all night, as it bolted and clashed on the horizon, setting aflame a courthouse in a neighboring county. He strode in through the door and in to the kitchen, where he poured himself a cup of black coffee, sprucing it with a touch of homegrown bourbon. There wasn’t much else he could do for anyone or anything that day, including himself. He moved to the front of the house and sat upon the blue rocking chair his mother had found years ago at a market in the hill country. The day had been long and hot and dry and he dozed on the rocking chair, even with the spiked coffee buzzing through his system. Some four hours later, Newt awoke in a flash of terror; the skies alight with thunderous clashes of power and chaos. The cup of coffee that had been resting on his chest fell down the steps of the porch and broke. But Newt cared nothing for the broken glass because he could smell it and he could feel it. The sky threw thunder in the heavens and lightning toward the ground, illuminating the heavy drops of rain as they sunk in to the rejoicing earth. 

  Home to You by Max Stalling

  Long Way to Get by Max Stalling