And the surrounding grass moving gently in the wind.
If someone arrived without seeing the earlier disturbance, they might have assumed nothing unusual had happened.
But the cracked bank told a different story.
A fresh section of ground had dropped away.
The crescent-shaped depression had widened.
And near the center, a series of bubbles continued rising at irregular intervals.
Naomi stood behind the temporary fence.
Her hands were wrapped around the notebook.
For a moment, she remembered being seven years old, holding a coffee can of worms.
Her grandmother's sharp voice echoed in her memory.
That water doesn't always stay where you think it is.
She had assumed Ruthie meant slippery mud.
Now she wondered whether the old woman had been warning her about the ground beneath the pond.
That evening, Dale came to the farmhouse.
Naomi had showered and changed into clean clothes.
Her children were eating dinner at the kitchen table.
When she opened the door, the rancher stood on the porch holding his cowboy hat.
He looked uncomfortable.
"Evening."
Naomi stepped aside.
"Come in."
Dale glanced toward the children.
Then spoke quietly.
"I owe you an apology."
Naomi looked surprised.
"For what?"
He sighed.
"For treating you like you were imagining things."
She smiled faintly.
"You weren't the only one."
He shook his head.
"Doesn't make it right."
For several seconds, he looked toward the back pasture.
Then continued.
"I've walked past that pond for thirty years. Never thought there was anything under it but mud."
Naomi nodded.
"Neither did I."
Dale looked toward her notebook.
"Your measurements showed something was happening before any of us could see it."
She glanced down.
Then said softly, "The measurements were trying to tell us something."
Dale smiled sadly.
"Well, next time you've got a notebook full of strange numbers, I reckon I'll listen."
Naomi laughed.
For a moment, the tension eased.
Then Dale became serious.
"There's something else."
She looked toward him.
He hesitated.
Then asked whether Ruthie had ever mentioned a water-control structure beneath the pond.
Naomi frowned.
"No."
Dale looked toward the floor.
For several seconds, he seemed to search his memory.
Then said, "When I was a boy, my father talked about some county project out here."
Naomi sat straighter.
"What kind of project?"
Dale shook his head.