aside piece of scrap paper.
Probably a pink candy wrap-
per, I thought, as I turned to
step off the trail onto the yellow
leaf-litter recently shed by the
spindly saplings of Mexican
buckeyes and willows. The pink
that caught my eye raised its
head about 3 inches off the
golden background and sur-
veyed the threat I presented.
The shade of coral-pink of
the coloration of the western
coachwhip snake can look at
first glance like a piece of cello-
phane in Brewster County,
Texas. This one was the length
of several dozen candy-bar
wrappers, probably about 5
feet long. Although the coach-
whip was absolutely no danger
to me or to anything other than
the kangaroo rats or a small
lizard or two it would seek out,
there is something about hap-
pening upon a serpent that, I
suspect, invariably causes a
quick intake of breath.
When the creature raised its
head to look in my direction, I
was Rikki-Tikki-Tavi con-
fronting Nag and Nagaina, and
Jane was little Teddy in that
garden in the Sugauli Canton -
ment of Bihar State in Kipling’s
India. Like Rikki, I gave no
ground. I did not attack like
Rikki to kill Karait. I watched
with my mongoose-like eyes,
and the nearly 2 meters of coral
slid away and soon could no
longer be distinguished from
the red rocks beyond the decid-
uous blanket that had made it
so paisley-plain.
We were soon out of
Kipling territory, because the
first bird we saw as we sat down
on the bench was not Rikki’s
friend the Tailor Bird; instead it
was a white-winged dove.
Nearly a quarter larger than the
mourning dove that we are
accustomed to seeing back in
Ohio, the white-winged dove
looks a lot like its smaller cousin,
except of course for the leading-
edge white feathers on its wings.
The dove was indifferent to
our presence on the bench. We
ate the sandwiches and fruit
Jane had packed for the lunch
on our intended hike up the
dry Cottonwood. About 30 feet
in front of us amidst a tangle of
brush stood a large century
plant, an agave with very large,
sharply pointed succulent
leaves that can spend years, five
to perhaps 20 but seldom a
hundred years, taking in suffi-
cient nutrient to cause it to
flower. Then it shoots up a
branched stalk of blooms near-
ly overnight, extending its fra-
grant blossoms for a particular
species of bat to satisfy its
palate with nectar and to polli-
nate the seeds for the next gen-
eration. Century plants die as
soon as the flower stalk has
matured, and their remains
take many more years to decay
in this desiccated graveyard of
dead plants.
With the wind whistling its
midday melody, we listened to
the life-giving thumpa-pa of
the pump plunger and did not
hear the fox. It was the move-
ment of rust and gray in the
underbrush that caught Jane’s
attention. My fascination fol-
lowed her silent touch on my
right arm.
Like the coachwhip snake,
we had first caught sight of the
stately gray fox when we were
but a week’s residents of the
park. This one, however, did
not strut its haute couture out
in the open like the one we first
watched. Shy and with fre-
quent glances in alert surveil-
lance, it poked its cat-like nose
this way and that, sniffing for a
bite of grasshopper, and then
disappeared.
We could not see the pool of
fresh water being thumpa-
pumped at the base of the
windmill just to the right of the
century plant, but the constant
traffic of a variety of birds kept
each of us in a birder’s rapture.
In the order in which I wrote
them in the field notebook that
we carry in our birding vest, as
we sat there in our solitary pew
for a three-hour Sunday service
of wonder and praise, we saw
the white-winged dove, ruby-
crowned kinglet, northern
mockingbird, northern cardi-
nal, hermit thrush, ladder-back
woodpecker, verdin, white-
crowned sparrow, black-tailed
gnatcatcher, house wren,
pyrrhoulaxia, spotted towhee,
white-throated sparrow, greater
roadrunner, common raven
and cordilleran flycatcher. This
last in the list, the cordilleran or
western flycatcher was a “lifer”
for us, meaning this was our
first sighting of this species in
our lifetime. This brought to
nearly 400 the species on our
“life list.” Since there are over
900 kinds of birds in the
United States, we have a lot of
birding left to do before we fol-
low Sam and Nena.
Seldom have we been so for-
tunate as to be so intimate in
attendance with the comings
and goings of such a variety of
West of the Pecos wildlife.
During that afternoon of wor-
ship, three times the fox re-
appeared usher-like to see if
there was yet an offering to be
received. At the end, a coyote
in shaggy vestment, by crossing
the trail about 20 yards to our
left, announced, “The Mass is
ended. Go in Peace.”
Almost immediately anoth-
er birder, alone, appeared for
the next service, and we lin-
gered only long enough to
share with her what she was
likely to encounter. But the
truth is that we probably wast-
ed our breath in giving her our
“heads up.” It is the unforeseen
encounters that make a day
worshipful. The Wonder that
fulfills our lives cannot be plot-
ted. Neither technology nor
sophistication is necessary for
an encounter with the Mystery.
The legacy of those who’ve
been here before, digging wells
and planting trees, is more than
a helpful coincidence. With all
that preparation, all the
Mystery asks of us is time,
attention and patience.
432-837-3100
Spirit Rattles
inner
Handmade in Far West Texas to
remind you to count your blessings.
Like the mysterious orbs of light
that dance across the plains
of Marfa, Texas, the energy
of gra!tude cannot be explained.
Available in the Big Bend
at the Chisos Mountain Lodge,
or in Alpine at Kiowa Gallery.
To find a retailer near you visit:
Marfa
Table
Seasonal * Local * Fresh
eat-in & carry-out
109 south highland
marfa
tel. 432.729.3663 (food)
marfatable.com
www.JDavisStudio.com
Cenizo
Third Quarter 2011
13