Rarely would we get rain, maybe one or two inches a year. It was a monumental event. Raindrops would fall on the dry ground and roll up into dusty balls before they would ever sink in and moisten the earth. After the rains, the clay earth would quickly dry and crack.

More often than rain, we would have dust storms, where strong wind from the south would raise dust high into the air, looking like an ominous, dirty yellow, billowing wall. We would race to put away everything that might blow away, or be damaged by the scouring sand. My mom would shut and tape the windows. It was always in vain. The relentless wind would slam in with a shudder and drive fine sand through every crack, until everything was covered with a fine layer of grit.

Looking south from the back door, we could see the Little Maria Mountains to the right. The second picture is a simulation I created with photo editing of what an approaching dust storm would look like.