Dust to Dust

Spring time on the plains of Texas is a beautiful time.  The vast open sky turns a brighter, crisper blue in anticipation of summer.  A bit of rain greens up any existing flora and pasture grasses. A tiny bit of moisture coupled with those winds can also spell disaster, however, and if you have never seen a sandstorm, then it is incredibly difficult to understand the magnitude of it.  Below are pictures of such sandstorms.  The first picture was taken in March and the second picture just a few days ago.

Red dirt seeps into every corner and crevice.  No matter the amount of precautionary caulking and tightening doors and windows on both houses and vehicles, the dirt finds a microscopic crack to creep through.  It hangs in the air and makes it very difficult to breathe.  The wall of dust can be seen for miles as it rolls across the land sometimes shearing off the new growth of tiny plants.  Tumble weeds laugh with glee as they gain speed with the wind, but nothing else finds redeeming value in the sandstorm.

When my mother died, we had services in our hometown, and she is buried in the community cemetery.  On that April day, the wind began howling early in the morning kicking up the dirt profusely by the time we reached the cemetery.  The dirt was blowing so ferociously that the tent had to be anchored to the tractor used to dig the grave.  I believed that no one would come to the cemetery after the church services because of the dirt storm, but I was wrong.   The mourners undeterred by the suffocating cloud followed us, and we gathered closely together to shield one another from the blasting sand.  After the quick traditional graveside rituals, we said our goodbyes and ran to our cars.  As we drove away, I noticed a group of men, young and old farmers, gathered together talking.  They lingered long after we drove away.

This is what living on the plains of Texas is all about.  Community is alive and kicking. The sandstorms do not change this.  The sand storms may even strengthen their resolve to always help each other.  I am glad I am made of such stock although I prefer not to experience another sandstorm.  So my dear friends who must endure the ugliness of the storm, know that I think of you during those times, and hope that a smile appears the morning after when that big Texas sky beams brightly, the birds sing happily, and cool breezes are dust free.

Enjoy!

Lana