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Page 27
As the sun moved farther north and with the help of milder winds melted winter into spring, it became a brand new ball game for Curly and me. It was nice to get out in the warm sun and watch the snow drifts shrink and bare spots appear on the higher ground. We would watch the water start to trickle down the hillsides into draws where they would form rivulets then move on to another draw until they became almost rivers in themselves as they rushed on to the Okobojo to be carried to the Missouri and on and on. There was a washout in the pasture that was three of four feet deep. When water ran into this washout it made a falls about three feet high. I liked to watch it in the spring. The clean, pure snow water would cause a foam to rise a couple of feet high and then break off in chunks and float on down the stream. Yes, a traveler of the world who has seen Niagara and other famous falls would not glance twice at this old washout, but to me it was one of the wonders of springs. About this time of year ducks and geese were on
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