Showers this morning, following a day of light rain yesterday. According to the long-range weather forecast, we'll have rain throughout the rest of the week and weekend. Not too much, I hope, since the river has already risen perhaps five feet from what it was last weekend, and is still coming up. This rise came as the fast-melting snow found it way into the upstream network of ditches and rivulets, brooks and small creeks, and eventually into the river which flows past my cottage—a stream which will carry and dump it into an even larger river, and thence into a third, and finally a fourth—the mighty Mississippi—which will take it all the way to the Gulf of Mexico.
I don't know why, but whenever I consider this network of streams which runs from the rich black farmland of northwestern Ohio to Louisiana's salty deltas, I'm always amazed to have such a front-row seat. Watersheds were our first highways—the arterial blood of a burgeoning nation; from canoe to flatboat to stern-wheeler, streams carried explorers, traders, families, goods. Most of our first towns were located adjacent to a river. Thinking about "my" river, I see not only the geographic connections, but also the historical.
One bit of good news is that our temperature today is supposed to hit a high of 64˚F…incredible considering not many mornings ago the thermometer read a numbing 16˚F when I went out to replenish the bird feeders at dawn. Moreover, the week's highs are suppose to remain at least in the 50s, which I suppose makes the rain more tolerable, though it doesn't do much for photography and taking walks.
Ahhh-h-h, but isn't spring's coming always about weather? Why should this year be any different?