Black-Eyed Susans
A visit to Big Bend National Park results in a surprise encounter
West Texas didn’t simply appear; it dominated. The green knolls of the Hill Country gave way to the flat, dusty expanse of the Permian Basin. Then, finally, the alien, red-rock angularity of the Chisos Mountains.
Somewhere near Fort Stockton, between a playlist war involving James’s Laid and Tom Petty’s Listen to Her Heart, they traded histories they had not discussed before. Doug learned Charlotte studied ballet for years as a girl. That explained her precision. She learned he played drums. That explained his tolerance for chaos.
Now, the Airstream was surrounded by honey mesquite, ocotillo, and silence so profound it rang like a bell.
Charlotte stepped out of the trailer. She had showered, and the scent of floral soap and the desert air clung to her. She pulled up a chair close to Doug. “It’s mesmerizing,” she said softly, watching the fire he had just built.
“It is,” he said. “Do you know why?”
“No. Why?”
“Well, from what I understand, we look at a fire and clock ‘fire.’ But if we keep looking, we see it constantly change. We can’t resist that,” Doug said.
Charlotte was silent, her eyes reflecting the firelight. “Yes,” she said. “It’s a lovely thought – it makes fire like a river. Always the same, always changing.”
Another hour passed. Doug doused the shimmering coals and stirred the ashes. Charlotte went inside, brushed her teeth, made the bed, and shook out the down comforter. He followed her inside soon after, the door closing behind him with a metallic click. The lights dimmed. The night darkened.
In the morning, a bright ray of sun found a gap in a window shade. Doug was up moments later, careful to be quiet. He spent a little while in the bathroom to brush his teeth and shave, then tiptoed to the kitchen to start the coffee machine.
He looked over at Charlotte. Soft light through the blinds, hair tousled, one of his worn cotton T-shirts hanging on her. She sat up and stretched, letting the shirt ride up a little.
“Good morning,” she said sleepily.
“Good morning, princess.”
A skeptical eye widened a little.
“There was a lump in the mattress. Now it’s making me coffee.”
She reached for the latte Doug handed her.
“Thank you, my prince.”
“Scrambled eggs and a bagel?”
“Yes please.”
Doug folded the Gaucho bed back into place so they could maneuver in the narrow trailer. “Bathroom is all yours.”
She stood and stretched again. “Thanks, hon. I’ll be quick.”
While Doug started the stove, she hummed softly in the bathroom. He replayed the night in his head and said to no one, “Jesus. That woman.”
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this unhurried. Not just rested – unhurried. Like the day had no edges.
Charlotte came out soon after, wearing jeans and a cropped black tank top. She settled at the dinette to watch Doug cook.
“So, what’s on the agenda for today?” she asked.
“You have a hike planned, right?”
“Right – I do. There’s a beautiful trail nearby that leads to Cattail Falls. We could pack a picnic lunch and make a day of it.”
“Sounds perfect.”
They packed sandwiches from barbecue left over from the previous day’s take-out, plus water and snacks. By the time they stepped out into the warm sun, the morning already felt like it belonged to them.
The hike began in open desert flats, with the two walking a landscape of low scrub, sotol, and scattered ocotillo.
Charlotte led the way. “Look at these wildflowers, Douglas. Aren’t they stunning?”
“What are they?”
She knelt to examine them. “Black-eyed Susans. They symbolize constancy and loyalty.”
“In that case I like them.”
She brushed dirt from her knees. “I’m glad you approve. Come on, the waterfall is just up ahead.”
They kept walking. Across a gentle rise over gravel benches. The mountains grew closer, and the air shifted.
Then Doug saw movement.
“Stop.”
Charlotte froze. “What is it?”
“Wait a sec…” He took a few steps forward, reached into a hummock of sideoats grama grass, and lifted into the sunlight a three-foot-long gopher snake, its yellow skin color broken up by reddish-brown blotches.
She jumped back. “Oh my goodness! Be careful, those can be dangerous.”
“This little guy? Not at all.” The snake draped over his arm.
“Are you sure? It looks pretty big.”
“Harmless. Texas gopher snake. Pituophis…uhhh… Pituophis catenifer.”
The snake suddenly took a stab at Doug’s index finger. He jerked it back.
“Whoops! Didn’t expect that.”
Doug held the snake gently to see if it would calm. It seemed to.
“We’re OK now,” he said. “Feel its skin – very gently.”
She hesitated, then reached out. “It’s quite smooth.”
“Dry and smooth. People think snakes are slimy. They’re not.”
“This is… unexpectedly pleasant.”
The snake flicked its tongue at her fingers. “See? He likes you.”
Charlotte laughed nervously and pulled her hand back a bit. “Well, I’m glad someone’s happy.”
“Here,” Doug said. “Take him. Pretend your arm is a tree limb.”
“Okay… but slowly.”
He handed the snake over.
The reptile settled itself and peered into her face, its forked tongue testing the air around her. “Oh! It’s heavier than I thought it would be.”
“All muscle. He’s a constrictor. Kills prey by squeezing.”
“It feels almost alive.”
“Well, it IS alive.”
She rolled her eyes lightly. “You know what I meant.”
“These guys do a lot of good. Eat tons of rats. But people kill them because they look a little like rattlers. In fairness, they will vibrate their tail in dry grass to try to imitate a rattle.”
Charlotte nodded. “People fear what they don’t understand.”
“They do,” Doug said. “And sometimes they’re right to. But not about this guy.”
He watched the snake settle into her grip. She was braver than she knew. Or maybe she just trusted him. Either way, he liked it.
“Alright, on the ground and away with him.”
Instead, she went still in that way she sometimes did. Not distracted, not absent, just… deep. Like she’d dropped into an interior well, sorting through something with both hands.
He was used to it.
She held the reptile for another minute, watching it try to climb from her arm to her shoulder.
Then she lowered it gently to the ground. “There you go, little buddy. Go catch some rats.”
The snake vanished into the grass with a faint rustle of dry grass.
An hour later they arrived at Cattail Falls, boulder-hopping the last fifty yards. It had rained overnight, and the falls was living up to its name – swishing loudly as it rolled off the edge of a cliff, expanded, and dove gracefully into a pool at the bottom.
They took off their boots and waded into the cool stream.
Doug splashed Charlotte. She splashed back and laughed.
Back on dry ground, she spread lunch on a towel. Sandwiches made from leftover brisket, a bag of chips with sea salt, water bottles she had frozen overnight and were just now thawed.
“I could live like this,” Doug said as he took a bite of sandwich, then washed it down with cold water.
“Me too.”
Even after they hoisted their packs back on and left the waterfall to hike back down, Charlotte was still riding the high of the snake.
“I must say,” she said, “this is turning out to be quite the educational experience.”
At the trailer they stripped off sweaty shirts and changed into dry ones.
“I’m thinking we could start a fire tonight and stargaze,” Charlotte said.
“Perfect. Plus, I have something else in mind.”
“Oh? Do I get a hint about what it is?”
“No.”
By now it was sunset. After dinner of stir-fried chicken and vegetables, they stepped outside. The desert sky was going full Kodachrome. Doug started a fire, let it burn, then reduce itself to coals. He produced the evening supplies: a one-inch hardwood dowel coated with a little Pam spray, and a tin of Pillsbury Crescent Rolls he had knocked open.
She stared. “Um… what are we doing with those?”
He wrapped a strip of dough around the end of the dowel, pressing it gently to ensure the wood was completely covered, and handed it to Charlotte. “Hold this just over the coals and rotate it. Slowly.”
She followed his instructions.
“Give it a moment,” Doug said.
He ducked inside the trailer and came out with a carton of Blue Bell vanilla ice cream and a jar of Hershey’s chocolate syrup.
She blinked. “I’m curious where you’re going with this whole setup.”
“Alright,” he said, handing her a plate, “slide the dough off.”
She did. The now-toasted dough slipped off the dowel. A golden-brown hollow cylinder.
Doug took it. Spooned in ice cream. Added chocolate.
“Take a bite.”
She tried it. Her face lit up. “Oh wow… this is incredible!”
Doug smiled. “Beats the hell out of s’mores.”
“Definitely a step up,” she agreed.
“I’ll make another.”
She held out her now-empty plate. “Please!”
As he wrapped the next piece of dough around the dowel, she watched him carefully.
“You’re quite skilled with your hands,” she said.
“Well…”
She covered her face. “With the dough. I meant with the dough.”
“Yes. Obviously.”
They finished dessert while the fire burned down to embers. The desert air cooled. Stars appeared, unevenly, through scattered clouds.
She took the last bite from her bowl.
“Wonderful,” she said.
Doug wasn’t sure what she meant.
He decided not to ask.