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<body topmargin=0 leftmargin=0 marginheight=0 marginwidth=0> <table cellpadding=0 cellspacing=0 border=0 height="100%"><tr> <td valign="top" width=200 BGCOLOR="#003333" TEXT="#F7F7FF" background="096d4c00dduajq.gif"> <div> <TABLE BORDER="0" CELLPADDING="2" CELLSPACING="0" WIDTH="95" BORDERCOLORLIGHT="#C0C0C0" BORDERCOLORDARK="#808080" FRAME="BOX" RULES="ALL" ALIGN="BOTTOM" HSPACE="0" VSPACE="0" > <tR> <tD VALIGN=TOP HEIGHT= 46 WIDTH="91"><IMG BORDER="0" SRC="1x1.gif" HEIGHT="46" ALIGN="bottom" WIDTH="91" HSPACE="0" VSPACE="0"></tD> </tR> </TABLE></div> <bR> <div> <A HREF="id4.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Burr Williams"><U>Burr W</U></A><A HREF="id4.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Burr Williams"><U>illiams</U></A></div> </td> <td valign="top" BGCOLOR="#FFFFFF" TEXT="#080000"> <div> <FONT SIZE="5" COLOR="#003333" FACE="Arial" ><B>The Best of Texas Nature Writing . . . </B></FONT>     |     <A HREF="index.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="The Best of Texas Nature Writing . . . "><U>home</U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id139.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Current Column"><U>Current Column</U></A>   |   <B>Archives</B></div> <div> Archives</div> <bR> <div> <B><U>WILD ON THE PRAIRIE </U></B></div> <bR> <DIV ALIGN="LEFT"></DIV> <div> <B>La Ni</B><B>ñ</B><B>a De La Tierra</B></div> <div> <B>Burr Williams</B></div> <bR> <div> Midland Reporter Telegram</div> <div> January 20, 2002</div> <div> © <FONT SIZE="2" COLOR="#000000" FACE="Times New Roman" >2003 Burr Williams</FONT></div> <bR> <div>       La nina de la tierra waited at the mouth of her burrow.  Her over-sized, pink, bald head gleamed in the moonlight like a human skull.  The long antennae above her dark eyes gently waved.  La nina listened for a male stridulating the inner surface of his leg against short spines on his abdomen.  The tenor sound carries far on humid air in the spring and fall after the rains, late in the night just before the dew falls and ground mist rises.  Her activities increase, as she patrols the deep sands long ago blown east from the Pecos River Valley.  </div> <div>  </div> <div>       In the dunes, several species of spiders burrow.  All are speckled for camouflage, and are invisible until they move.  They feed on the tiny flies that come to coyote dung and kangaroo rat poop, the tiny parasitical flies and wasps that are part of the insect community of sand heliotrope, sunflower, shinoak, and the rest of the deep sand flora.</div> <bR> <div>       La nina loves the juicy spiders, for their abdomens are the size of a human's smallest fingernail -- such nice juicy bags of rich food for la nina!  She will capture caterpillars travelling from plant to plant, as they avoid the glaring heat of the day.  If a soft juicy plant root is exposed by the winds, la nina will gnaw on herbaceous material as well.  </div> <bR> <div>       As she moved into the open, the black bands across the shiny amber abdomen seemed to ripple in the shadows of her thick hind legs.  Her antennae swept side to side, low above her front four feet.  As always, her expressionless face presented the visage of a human baby.</div> <bR> <div>       Where water occurs, la nina and her kin can be found in the sand bars and allluvial river terraces above the streams.  Where rocks mix with sand, their dens are protected from the digging of coyotes and skunks.  But on the sands of the dune fields, such as those stretching from Crane to Ft. Sumner, their mass emergence is their most efficacious defense.  In the rainy season, 40 burrows will be visible on one dune face for the few days needed for mating and filling their bellies in preparation for the long dry periods of diapause.</div> <bR> <div>       In places without rivers in the arid lands of northern Mexico and the southwestern United States, la nina de la tierra is sometimes considered to be the lost baby of La Llorona.  </div> <bR> <div>       In the tale of La Llorona, a young woman gives birth to a baby.  No one had suspected she was pregnant.  Her father, feeling disgraced and betrayed, demanded to know the name of the father, but she denied ever having been with a man.  While its mother slept, her father took the child and threw the baby into a nearby river.  The young woman awoke and ran to the river, but it was too late -- not only for the baby, but also for her.  Blood was pouring from her body, and all that was found in the morning was a trail of blood.  Forever after, people have reported seeing apparitions of a young woman holding a baby, weeping beside the river.</div> <bR> <div>       The full moon makes the sands glow.  Often the reflected light is so great that color can be faintly seen.  When I was a child camping in the dunes, I dreamt several times about a woman in a long white dress walking the dunes.  The memory is so vivid that for a long time I believed I had seen a movie with the image.  Nights of the full moon on the dunes hold a mystery that is palpable.  As an adult I have taken children to the dunes, and once a bull started bellowing in the night, and the children became panicked with fear.  As the bull came over the top of the dune and its shadow crossed our bedrolls, tears began to flow.</div> <bR> <div>       Folktales of place are rooted in such fears.  Their images resonate within our souls, and the stories have a power that reaches across cultures.  When fears are personified by a story that is told over and over, the story will provide lessons for different situations within our life.  The La Llorona story is both a precaution for young women to remain pure until marriage, and also a warning to the fathers that personal pride can have horrible results.</div> <bR> <div>       Our little nina de la tierra marched across the moist sand, leaving perfect tracks up and down the ripples frozen into the sand by the rain's moisture.  She found a pile of wild hog droppings, and found several flies asleep on its surface.  The wild hogs had escaped in the early 1900s when a sandstorm covered the railroad tracks and caused the derailment of a boxcar loaded with boar destined for a hunting preserve in the deep South.  </div> <bR> <div>       The boars were in the willow grove nearby, drinking from the well dug by animals to reach the subsurface moisture between the dunes.  Native Americans knew of the dunes -- Magoosh met Mow-way at such a waterhole, and together they created a treaty between the last freeroaming bands of Apache and Comanche.  The dunes hold so many stories!</div> <bR> <bR> <DIV ALIGN="LEFT"></DIV> <div> <B>Pronghorn</B></div> <div> <B>Burr Williams</B></div> <bR> <div> Midland Reporter Telegram</div> <div> October 8, 2000</div> <div> © <FONT SIZE="2" COLOR="#000000" FACE="Times New Roman" >2003 Burr Williams</FONT></div> <bR> <div>      "Pronghorn (antelope) and ants have something in common." </div> <bR> <div>      "What in the blue blazes do ya mean there, hoss?"</div> <bR> <div>      "All these big ol' ants running around underneath us -- what are they carrying?"</div> <bR> <div>      "It looks like they are carrying seeds.  And look there at that nest -- it is surrounded by fluffy chaff from the Arizona Cottontop."</div> <bR> <div>      "People call them Big Red Ants, but another name I have heard is Harvester Ant. Used to be that people thought they planted the seeds around their nest. It sorta looks that way, because there is often one species of grass around the nest that doesn't grow anywhere else nearby. It made the old fable about the grasshopper and ant even more of a parable, with the ant growing his own food."</div> <bR> <div>      "Look -- these ants are coming out, and they are carrying seeds. There that one goes, right to the edge of the cleared circle -- and by golly, he just spat it out like a home run hitter expectorating chaw!"</div> <bR> <div>      "They don't eat the seeds. They carve the embryonic tissue off, chew it up and spit into their babies' mouth's."</div> <bR> <div>      "That's downright nasty.  Oh, heck, what am I saying. Birds feed babies bugs, and vultures regurgitate rotten meat, and herons puke half-digested fish into their babies' mouth's. I guess I am not so surprised.  But what do the adults eat?"</div> <bR> <div>      "Baby vomit. They process the food into a liquid that adults like.  Little bubbles of clear and sparkly baby vomit."</div> <bR> <div>      "Sort of like ants and aphids, huh? Except that it is aphid pee the ants drink isn't it? The honeydew; that is what it is called. But -- you're messing with my head, trying to make me forget you said antelopes and ants have something in common."</div> <bR> <div>      "You ever get close to an antelope?"</div> <bR> <div>      "As a matter of fact, I have. There is a small herd that utilizes my western pasture.  A few years ago I developed a water hole out there. I drilled a well and set up one of those solar pumps that feeds a tank that trickles out into a trough one of my hands built out of a hunk of rock. I put up a guzzler, too. I spent a number of nights out there, camping out with the family. I put it out where that deep playa is, that one the geologist with the leaseholders said might be a sinkhole like the Kermit Crater.  I would get up before daybreak and watch the light appear in the east."</div> <bR> <div>      "That is such a wonderful time of day. Everybody that works outside on the Llano has to become a morning person. And, a person should get up early -- in fact, the earlier the better  -- nothing better in the hot summer than that wonderful dawn coolness. Sometimes you can smell the moisture in the air, and when it is just right that cool moist air just cradles a person.  Man-o-man! Dawn air can be as soft as your loved one's skin!"</div> <bR> <div>      "I am sure you saw that letter to the editor recently -- that one where the feller in Arizona wrote in and fussed at you guys at the Nature Center for saying Pronghorn should be called antelope? I guess from a "folk name" standpoint, he was absolutely correct.  Charbonneau did tell Lewis and Clark he knew them as antelope. People call them that, there is no doubt. But you would have thought, if he was enough of a reader to quote Lewis and Clark, he would have some books in his collection about critters. He could have looked up Pronghorn. And even in Paige the Internet is accessible."</div> <bR> <div>       "Yeah, taxonomy is a way of relating species to others. That was our point. Pronghorn are different from African antelope. Some books give pronghorns a separate family, and at the very least, a separate sub-family.  There are several ways that pronghorns differ." </div> <bR> <div>      "Have you seen the drawings of the four-horned pronghorn in the Pleistocene? Now, that is a weird looking critter! When I was camping at the new waterhole I decided to plant some Afghan Pines in an enclosure. The morning before I planted them, I took a walk, waiting for it to get light enough to see where I had been soaking the ground all night. I'd walked maybe 400 yards in the moonlight when my big Chow froze. I could feel his every muscle tighten, even though he was six inches away from me. I looked in the direction he did, and three pronghorn just a few feet away. We had caught them sleeping."</div> <bR> <div>      "Didn't they bolt away?"</div> <bR> <div>      "Nope, that was a weird thing. They did not. When you are outdoors enough, sooner or later --"</div> <bR> <div>      "-- an animal is going to behave in an unexpected way. Yes sir!"</div> <bR> <div>      "The pronghorn peered at us from their comfortable prone positions. Pronghorns acting like satisfied cows! Dad-gum, it was different. I slowly sank to the ground, and sat down Indian-style. That dog is the smartest that has ever ridden with me. He hunkered down, too -- no growling -- just an intent look.  I think the pronghorn were puzzled -- what was that wild fierce canid doing with a biped? That just didn't compute in their minds. They were staring at Segundo, just boring holes in him with their stare.'</div> <bR> <div>      "I have heard that predators and prey have a language of death. Supposedly they signal each other in very subtle ways about their present physical condition. I wonder if Segundo's actions told them not to worry?"</div> <bR> <div>      "I figured they would get up and go sprinting away -- they run 60 to 70 miles an hour in short bursts, so I knew Segundo couldn't catch them. But they just kept sitting there, and we kept sitting there.  Probably five minutes passed, and it got a little lighter. Instead of only seeing their forms among the yuccas, I began to see detail on their faces. As it became even lighter, I could sense a growing nervousness. So could Segundo.  His muscles tensed and he began to quiver. I couldn't take it anymore and I stood up, waving my arms, and hollering. Segundo jumped the very second I propelled myself up. I swear they went from a kneeling position to full-out petal-to-the-metal scratch-laying and tire-squealing. No way Segundo could catch them." </div> <bR> <div>      "It is amazing how few kids know what a pronghorn is... they see the head mount at Sibley and call it a deer or a reindeer.  Any weekend you drive to Ruidoso for some fun at the horseraces or skiing or hiking in the cool mountains, a half dozen herds will appear between Bronco and that highway junction east of the Capitans. The ones on the ranch southwest of Loop 250 and Interstate 20 are often visible as you zip between Midland and Odessa. I guess kids don't look out the car window much. Everybody writes off the view on the Llano as BORING BORING BORING and more BORING. It takes effort and attention to perceive the subtleties within the landscape."</div> <bR> <div>      "I think I figured out how pronghorn modify the landscape. Pronghorns can carry seeds on their coats, and in their hooves, and they graze on woody forbs so they must process some seeds through the gastro-intestinal tract. I remember you saying I had the only population of Menodora in Midland County when you did the plant survey. In fact, it was growing where we found the bones and skull from a pronghorn that died last year.  I remember where it was -- it was out in that area where the pronghorns hang out in the late winter and early spring. It is at that ridge with shallow soil and even a little bit of a rock outcropping.  Menodora must be an ice-cream plant to pronghorn. I know that is not the only ridge like it in the county -- I have seen them when I cowboy for the neighbors."</div> <bR> <div>      "I haven't been on all those ranches. There may be more populations of Menodora in the county."</div> <bR> <div>      "Yeah, yeah, I know.  Now that I know what Menodora is, I will look for it on the other ranches."</div> <bR> <div>      "Critters that meander around aren't doing it willy-nilly. They know where different plants grow. Some are probably even epicures, seeking out particular plants at certain times. MMMMMMM, where is that wonderful little patch of lemoncillo so I can smell pretty for the girls???"</div> <bR> <bR> <DIV ALIGN="LEFT"></DIV> <div> <B>The Neighbors </B></div> <div> <B>Burr Williams</B></div> <bR> <div> Midland Reporter Telegram       </div> <div> September 10, 2000</div> <div> © <FONT SIZE="2" COLOR="#000000" FACE="Times New Roman" >2003 Burr Williams</FONT></div> <bR> <div>      The father moved in first.  I noticed him one evening, standing on his porch, baleful and yellow-eyed.  When I approached, he bowed thrice quickly, and then scurried into his home.  A few mornings later, I noticed him running about on his lawn, dashing a few feet, quickly catching grasshoppers, and immediately stuffing them down his throat with his foot.</div> <bR> <div>      Within two weeks his wife arrived. She almost never came to the door. (I am sure she was arranging and decorating her new home.)  The proud husband took to sitting atop a four-foot pole next to the hole. "He is not crepuscular, you told us he was crepuscular," scoffed several 5th graders.  "Well, he goes in before noon," I explained, "He is worried about you guys bothering his home."</div> <bR> <div>      In mid-May a terrific rainstorm drenched the neighborhood.   I waded around, assessing damage.  Proud papa was crouched in the grass. Was he hurt?  I stepped over the fence onto his property.  He flew up at an angle, and in his talons was a mourning dove, as large as himself. Thud!  Again he attempted to fly with his prey.  Thud!  I took a step in his direction. THUD!  Papa dragged the dove hopping backwards, his wings flicking with each effort.  When he reached his home, he bent over his prey, his eyes bright in the evening's last light, defiance written boldly in his posture.</div> <bR> <div>      By early June, his five children began sitting on the porch, their round heads visible more often than their dark juvenile plumage.  If I approached the fence, Papa would chatter, and they would appear to slide into the hole like firemen down a pole.  Mama became an alternate sentry, while papa flew after grasshoppers.  When cicada nymphs crept from the ground, Papa waited.  One morning, he carried twelve nymphs from under the oak tree within fifteen minutes.  In his busyness he forgot to not worry about my presence.</div> <bR> <div>         I moved closer to his house.  Whenever he lit with a new, prize the young crowded about him, bowing and chattering.  The prize always went to the boldest, loudest, and most aggressive who was sometimes chased to the grass by a disappointed sibling.  Mama glared at me from the pole.</div> <bR> <div>          In mid-June, a huge mowing machine mowed their yard.   After it left I dreaded the result -- but I could find no bloody clumps of feathers.  That evening all were out on the porch again, seeming somewhat shell-shocked.  When I came the next day with a smaller mower, they all remained above ground.  As I mowed further away, I looked back to see the entire family running about on the freshly mown grass, stopping, bending, and gulping grasshoppers injured by the mower.</div> <bR> <div>         A few evenings later, a light rainshower freshened the air and washed the dust off of the grass.  Papa, Mama, and their five kids walked onto the grass, their eyes unblinking in the sparkling rain, each droplet highlighted by the low sun.  The family bent parallel to the ground, opening their wings, and fluttering as if caught in a seizure, as the rain cascaded down.  When one finally stood upright I swore I could see a smirk.</div> <bR> <div>         Every morning the young would run about on the grass, catching everything that moved at their speed.  Do they catch lizards and horny toads?  What happens when they catch a tarantula?  Or when they catch a tarantula wasp? I saw the father fly in one morning with a small mouse, and by the way the young chattered and chased, he must have let it run free in their midst.</div> <bR> <div>         During the second full week of July, the young began to test their wings.  I think they must have been watching and learning from the resident roadrunner.  They ran and launched themselves, flapped a few times, then glided to the ground.  Within a day, however, they managed curving flights, from the hole to some taller unmowed grass. After they returned to the porch, I approached. Instead of flying, they ducked into the hole.  At the mouth of the hole was a torn piece of cloth, a half dozen cheerios and a number of small feathers, but no little chitin-packed pellets littering the mound.  There were no animal droppings near the entrance either.  (Supposedly, their kind scatter scat at the entrance to deter predators.)  As I neared the hole, the sound of rattlesnakes halted me.  Oh, yeah, the young make that noise!</div> <bR> <div>         A few minutes later, an uproar arose as three kingbirds began dive-bombing the re-emerged young.  Papa and Mama hurried back from the Sibley Nature Center's pasture to chase the bullies away.</div> <bR> <div>         The neighbors were fun to watch and get to know.  Do I have to tell you what they are?  Naaah, I didn't think so!</div> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <DIV ALIGN="LEFT"></DIV> <div> <B>Wild on the Prairie </B></div> <div> <B>Burr Williams</B></div> <bR> <div> Burr's introductory story for the paper.</div> <div> © <FONT SIZE="2" COLOR="#000000" FACE="Times New Roman" >2003 Burr Williams</FONT></div> <bR> <div>    The Sibley Nature Center is operated by the Midland Soil and Water Conservation District. Our board members are farmers and ranchers. We celebrate the natural world of the Llano Estacado. The Llano Estacado is a vast mesa, stretching from north of Amarillo to south of Midland and Odessa. </div> <bR> <div>    Most of the Llano appears flat and, to many eyes, ugly. We love its beautiful sunsets, the life-giving monster thunderstorms, the long strings of wintering Sandhill Cranes bugling their triumphant call, the almost impossible fields of multi-colored wildflowers(in rainy years), and its many other wonderful and glorious gifts. </div> <bR> <div>    The climate of the Llano Estacado can be harsh. As a blue norther howls, or a sandstorm wails, or relentless triple-digit heat sears, one experiences amazement and awe in the ability of plants and animals to adapt and survive. There are hundreds of wonderful stories which teach about the community of plants and animals that surround us. </div> <bR> <div>    A hundred and thirty years ago, five million buffalo, a million pronghorn antelope, and a half-billion prairie dogs could be found between San Angelo and Amarillo. The land was a carpet of grass, interspersed with isolated mesquite patches near waterholes and groves of soapberry and hackberries in the draws. It changed, and is still changing. </div> <bR> <div>    A new ecosystem has been developing. New species of plants and animals arrive in or near Midland almost every year. It is fascinating to see these changes, to experience the increasing diversity of the natural world of the Llano Estacado. We are only a small part of the natural world, although as we travel the streets of suburbia, it may seem we are the dominant life form. One of the most important lessons one can learn by observing the changing landscape of the Llano Estacado is that nature is an unconquerable force. </div> <bR> <div>    We disrupted the buffalo prairie. The land was overgrazed in the early days of ranching, creating an opportunity for different species of animals and plants to find a niche in the new and evolving ecosystem. Some species will be successful. Some will not. The combined urban forest and mesquite brushland ecosystems, which are currently developing, are home to more species of plants and animals than the buffalo prairie. </div> <bR> <div>    A few species of the buffalo prairie disappeared from the local landscape. We no longer have buffalo, wolves, blackfooted ferrets, or the Aplomado Falcon. </div> <bR> <div>    We could have the blackfooted ferret again. Blackfooted ferrets eat prairie dogs, and prairie dogs are on the increase. One local rancher reports instead of the one prairie dog town on his ranch in 1970, there are now thirty. He does not mind the prairie dogs, for he has recognized that the soil turned by the rodents provide a place for winter weeds to grow, thereby reducing the feed bill for his cattle. As another rancher commented, "We did not place the wild animals and plants here. We do not have the right to remove them. There is a reason for everything, and if we are smart enough, we may understand, some day." </div> <bR> <div>    Six states have reintroduced blackfooted ferrets. The Sibley Center is promoting the idea for West Texas. One local rancher has expressed interest in providing a release site. </div> <bR> <div>    Blackfooted ferrets resemble the European ferret which are sold as pets. Twenty years ago only one colony of blackfooted ferrets existed in the wild. These were captured and captive breeding quickly increased the population. Early releases of the captive-born offspring of this colony worked poorly, but as experience was gained, subsequent releases have been much more successful. </div> <bR> <div>    We at Sibley celebrate the ever-changing tapestry of the landscape. We present stories that will bring into greater detail the lives and ways of our neighbors of the natural world of the Llano Estacado. </div> <bR> <div>    The favorite wild animal of many people on the Llano Estacado is the box turtle. Everyone here knows somebody with Five to twenty turtles in their back yard. The box turtle is our mascot, the animal we have chosen to represent Sibley. Turtles are wonderful and admirable neighbors. Consider the qualities of turtles: tough and enduring, watchful, tidy, quiet and dignified, purposeful, respectful, gentle. Turtles keep trying, plan ahead, love their home territory, and are smart. </div> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> </td> </tr></table></body>