Another experience took place on the Stahmann Pecan Farm, in the south valley, where acres and acres of tall, graceful pecan trees are watered by irrigation canals. For years, the workers and their families lived on the farm among the trees, which form a rich, dark green canopy over the emerald grasses beneath.  Amelia recalls a still afternoon in late summer, when she was fourteen. The workers had finished irrigating and the trees were mirrored in dark, gleaming pools of water. Shadows deepened as the sun withdrew. The air hung silently, expectantly. Scarcely a leaf moved. It seemed, she thought, like a fantasy world. Suddenly, as she sat on the porch steps looking out into the long corridors formed by the trees, she heard a strange sound. It was a soft wail, but there was no breeze and she had never heard a sound like it. As it grew a bit louder, it seemed as if someone were crying, and the sound floated among the trees like a wounded bird. Even in the heat of the dying afternoon, she felt cold, as if taken with a sudden chill. She could see nothing but dared not leave the porch. At last, as darkness fell, the sound stopped. When her family, who had gone to the store, arrived home, she told them what had occurred. “Ah,” said her grandmother, “you heard the voice of a La Llorona!” For a long time afterward, she would not be left at home alone, but she never heard the sound again.

The voice of La Llorona has been described as weeping and wailing, whimpering or sobbing, or even howling and roaring. Her size and form also change, from four feet to nine feet tall, and she may be beautiful or horrible. She also sometimes takes the form of an owl, la lechuza. Another story concerns a guard who worked at the old county jail. As he was returning home from work one night, an owl flew into his headlights and continued to fly just ahead of his car. He followed the owl, which led him to an old abandoned graveyard. He left the car lights on and saw the owl fly in and out among the gravestones and then disappear behind one of them. Suddenly, from behind the same stone, a woman dressed in black emerged and sobbed piteously. She walked toward him, holding out her hands and pointing to the headstone. He was terrified but finally got into his car and fled the graveyard.

Later the next day, he returned and discovered that the headstone was that of a child who had died at a very early age. He was certain that he had seen La Llorona and the grave of her child—but everyone accused him of having too much tequila. He swore that he hadn’t touched a drop.

One particularly frightening tale of La Llorona concerns a man who picked up a hitchhiker on the old road to El Paso one night. She also wore a black dress and a shawl wrapped tightly around her head and shoulders. It was late October, and the wind was scattering dead leaves across the dark road. Ricardo thought perhaps she was heading back to one of the small villages along the road after attending mass or visiting relatives.