When Doc and Barbara Oehlbeck purchased their piece of heaven on earth in Muse near LaBelle, they named it “Grassy Run” because of the sea of green grass that greeted them upon their arrival. They had no idea how appropriate this name was until hearing the story of its previous occupant. ‘Grassy Run’ is a work in progress that is debuting in the ‘Farmer & Rancher’ with this second piece. Watch for the finished book about this wildlife haven in later announcements. Until then...enjoy!
—Editor

I’d been standing at the kitchen window looking out over the pond with the feeling that we’d never see the water lapping around the edges again.

In the past four years there was a major hurricane in two of those years, followed by two years of drought...the most severe in a century. During those two years of practically no rain, the pond water dropped constantly. Every day the water level was a little lower. Then this past winter, traditionally south Florida’s dry season, it became worse and worse until I was beginning to think we’d soon end up with not much more than a puddle pond. However, the fish kept jumping and the turtles kept multiplying and I kept worrying.

Summer had just bowed in. The days were long and hot but the nights were cool and breezy. Still no rain. Morning came. I went out by the pond scanning the skies for clouds that might mean rain. There were none. However in a matter of a few minutes, the sun was basking in an overall sky of blood-red. And I thought of the old limerick: Red in the morning, sailor’s warning...

I’d not much more than thought of these words when the wind rose sharply, the red sky turned gray-black, lightening split the heavens followed by horrendous thunder and Josie and I made a beeline for the house! Rain! Hard, driving rain in great white sheets. The sound of the rain on the tin roof was purely music. Since that day about ten days ago we’ve had rain every day, off and on, and I stand at the kitchen window simply watching the water inching up. If this rain pattern keeps up we’ll see the pond full again by summer’s end.

Just this morning before the sun had entirely cleared the tops of the cypress trees, a south breeze was ruffling the water. Little wavelets were bouncing from shore to shore broken only by the white splashes of jumping fish. Although wondering for years what particular conditions make the water appear a glistening emerald green, no conclusions have ever been reached. But here it was. Every drop from one end to the other was the same fresh, clear shade of emerald green. I held my breath for fear it would vanish right in front of my eyes. During that particular day the only time it changed was when heavy raindrops fell creating the illusion of little upside-down umbrellas.