All this rain we've been getting lately is beginning to get on my nerves. I've got nothing against water but enough is enough. I'm gonna have webbed feet, for goodness sake.

I'm from Post, just south of Lubbock. Suffice it to say there's not a lot of water out there. It isn't the driest or most desolate part of the state, but you can see it from there.

Do you remember how your vision of the outside world – those places you only visited during vacations or by reading books or watching movies – was skewed to your personal situation? My 'skewing' was that the greater world was dry, although on some level I had to have known that wasn't so.

Post is the county seat of Garza County. Its annual rainfall is 18.95 inches. By way of contrast, the United States average is 37 inches per year, and Gregg County gets 46 inches per year.

Cotton was once king in Garza County. Most of the crops were grown by dry-land farming. Dry-land simply means the farmer depends on what falls from the sky to nourish his crops. Farmers on the plains had irrigation from the Ogallala Aquifer to water their crops, but not nearly as much now as they did 40 years ago.

By this time each year, farmers should have their cotton planted. Their problem was, and often is, that either there was no spring rain or it came too early and left the land parched again before planting time arrived.

Any farmer worth his salt knew that 19 inches of annual rain meant you might get six to 10 of those inches in a few days' time. Spring rains are mighty unpredictable.

Every year, many a farmer is either unable to plant because of too little moisture, or has his crops washed out or submerged by torrential rains.

We do have a river in that part of the country — the Brazos River. Its name in Spanish is Rio de los Brazos de Dios (river of the arms of God). The name's origin may lie in thirst. As explorers wandered throughout what would become Texas, running upon the Brazos or one of its many branches and tributaries after long, hard traveling may well have been like being enfolded in the arms of God. Makes sense to me.

The Brazos River in West Texas didn't flow unless it rained very hard. You've heard the expression, "A mile wide and an inch deep?" That fairly describes the Brazos after a good soaking rain.

When I first moved to East Texas, I used to joke that I didn't know rivers ran 24 hours a day.

We used the Brazos' riverbed mostly as a site for picnics and campouts. We'd usually station ourselves near a bend in the river so we could swim in the pooled water.

And minnows. Wow. The Red Horse minnow was the best for bass or catfish fishing, and it could always be found in the Brazos River. I can still picture myself dipping my seine in the river gathering 'minners' for a fishing trip.

What I really miss about the rain in West Texas is the hearty storms. If you want to see Mother Nature riled up and putting on a grand fireworks display, you should move out that way in the spring and take a seat.

Storms pack lightning that will light up the world, thunder claps that will rattle your eye teeth — and windows — and winds that will blow away almost anything that isn't cemented in or chained down.

I vividly remember the early 1950s dust storms. Our teachers would pull down the window shades to keep the dust from drifting across the room when the wind was blowing. Post was on the outer edges of the Dust Bowl.

What with the constant West Texas breeze, it could rain hard one day, then the wind and sun would bake the top soil dry and we'd have a sandstorm the next day.

Spring in West Texas was a short affair. If you had some spring rains, you'd get some spring flowers, and they might last a few weeks. Then things turn browned and hot for months on end.

Now that I think about it, Post is not really that different from Longview — nothing that an additional 20 inches of rain a year wouldn't cure.

Paul L. Walker is a high school English teacher and freelance writer. E-mail him at aulleew@sbcglobal.net.